Nico Di Angelo and the Olympians: The Lightning Thief
by FaeReaper
Summary: What would happen if the big three kids switched lives with Nico in Percy's?place
1. Chapter 1

Nico Di Angelo and the Olympians: The Lightning Thief.

All rights go to Rick Riordan, I made this on a whim.

Chapter 1: I Accidentally Vaporize My Pre-algebra Teacher

Look, I didn't want to be a half-blood.

If you're reading this because you think you might be one, my advice is: close this book right now. Believe whatever lie your mom or dad told you about your birth, and try to lead a normal life.

Being a half-blood is dangerous. It's scary. Most of the time it gets you killed in painful, nasty ways.

If you're a normal kid, reading this because you think it's fiction, great. Read on. I envy you for being able to believe that none of this ever happened.

But if you recognize yourself in these pages-if you feel something stirring inside-stop reading immediately. You might be one of us. And once you know that, it's only a matter of time before they sense it too, and they'll come for you.

Don't say I didn't warn you.

My name is Nico Di Angelo.

I'm twelve years old. Until a few months ago, I was a boarding student at Yancy Academy, a private school for troubled kids in upstate New York.

Am I a troubled child?

Yes. You could say that.

I could start at any point in my short miserable life to prove it, but things really started going bad last May, when our sixth-grade class took a field trip to Manhattan- twenty-eight mental-case kids and two teachers on a yellow school bus, heading to the Metropolitan Museum of Art to look at ancient Greek and Roman artifacts.

I know-it sounds like torture. Most Yancy field trips were.

But Mr. Brunner, our Latin teacher, was leading this trip, so I had hopes.

Mr. Brunner was this middle-aged guy in a motorized wheelchair. He had thinning hair and a scruffy beard and a frayed tweed jacket, which always smells like coffee. You wouldn't think he'd be cool, but he told stories and jokes and let us play games in class. He also had this awesome collection of Roman armor and weapons, so he was the only teacher whose class didn't put me to sleep.

I hoped the trip would be okay. At least, I hoped that for once I wouldn't get in trouble.

Boy, was I wrong.

See, bad things happen to me on field trips. Like at my fifth-grade school, when we went to the Saratoga battlefield, I had this accident with a Revolutionary War cannon. I wasn't aiming for the school bus, but of course I got expelled anyway. And before that, at my fourth-grade school, when we took a behind-the-scenes tour of the Marine World shark pool, I may have kinda hit the wrong lever on the catwalk and the rest of the class took an unplanned swim. And the time before that . . . Well, you get the idea.

This trip, I was determined to be good.

All the way into the city, I put up with Nancy Bobofit, the freckles, redheaded kleptomaniac girl, hitting my best (and only) friend Grover in the back of the head with chunks of peanut butter-and-ketchup sandwich.

Grover is an easy target. He was scrawny. He cried when he got frustrated. He must've been held back several grades, because he was the only sixth grader with acne and the start of a wispy beard on his chin. On top of all that, he was crippled. He had a note excusing him from PE for the rest of his life because he had some kind of muscular disease in his legs. He walked funny, like every step hurt him, but don't let that fool you. You've never seen him run when it was enchilada day in the cafeteria.

Anyway, Nancy Bobofit was throwing wads of sandwich that stuck in his curly brown hair, and she knew I couldn't do anything back to her because I was already on probation. The headmaster had threatened me with death by in-school suspension if anything bad, embarrassing, or even mildly entertaining happened on this trip.

"I'm going to kill her," I mumbled.

Grover tried to calm me calm me down (since he knows what happens when I get angry). "It's okay. I like peanut butter. "

He dodged another piece of Nancy's lunch.

"That's it." I started to get up, but Grover pulled me back to my seat.

"You're already on probation," he reminded me. "You know who'll get blamed if anything happens."

Looking back, I should have decked Nancy Bobofit right then and there. In-school suspension would've been nothing compared to the mess I was about to get myself into.

Mr. Brunner led the museum tour.

He rode up front in his wheelchair, guiding us through the big echoey galleries, past marble statues and glass cases full of really old black-and-orange pottery.

It blew my mind that this stuff had survived for two thousand, three thousand years.

He gathered us around a thirteen-foot-tall stone column with a big sphincter on the top, and started telling us how it was a grave marker, a stele, for a girl about our age. He told us about the carvings on the sides. I was trying to listen to what he was saying, (since I just have to have an attraction to death), but everybody around me was talking, and every time I told them to can it, the other teacher chaperone, Mrs. Dodds, would give me the evil eye.

Mrs. Dodds was this little math teacher from Michigan who always wore a brown leather jacket, even if she was fifty. She looked mean enough to ride a Harley straight into your locker. She had come to Yancy halfway through the year, when the last math teacher had a nervous breakdown.

From her first day, Mrs. Dodds loved Nancy Bobofit and figured I was the spawn of Satan. She would point her crooked finger at me and say, "Now, honey," real sweet, and I knew I was going to get after-school detention for a month.

One time, after she'd made me erase answers out of old math workbooks until midnight, I told Grover I didn't think Mrs. Dodds was human. He looked at me, real serious and said, "You're absolutely right."

Mr. Brunner kept talking about Greek funeral art.

Finally, Nancy Bobofit snickered something about the naked guy on the stele, and I turned around and said, "Will you just be quite?"

It came out just a bit louder than I meant it to.

The whole group laughed. Mr. Brunner stopped his story.

"Mr. Di Angelo, " he said, "did you have a comment?"

My face completely red. I said, "No, sir."

Mr. Brunner pointed to one of the pictures on the stele. "Perhaps you'll tell us what this picture represents? "

I looked at the carving, and felt a flush of relief, because I actually recognized it. "That's Kronos eating his kids, right?"

"Yes," Mr. Brunner said, obviously not satisfied. "And he did this because ..."

"Well ..." I racked my brain to remember. "Kronos was the king titan, and he didn't trust his kids, who were the gods. So, um, Kronos ate them, right? But his wife hid baby Zeus, and gave Kronos a rock to eat instead. And later, when Zeus grew up, he tricked his father, Kronos, into barfing up his brothers and sisters-"

"Eeew!" Said one of the girls behind me.

"-and so there was this big fight between the gods and the Titans," I continued, "and the gods won."

Some snickered from the group.

Behind me Nancy Bobofit mumbled to a friend, "Like we're going to use this in real life. Like it's going to say on our job applications, 'please explain why Kronos ate his kids.'"

"And why, Mr. Di Angelo'" Brunner said, "to paraphrase Miss Bobofit's excellent question, does this matter in real life?"

"Busted," Grover muttered.

"Shut up," Nancy hissed, her face even brighter red than her hair.

At least Nancy got packed, too. Mr. Brunner was the only one who ever caught her saying anything wrong. He had radar ears.

I thought about his question, and shrugged. "I don't know, sir."

"I see." Mr. Brunner looked disappointed. "Well, half credit, Mr. Di Angelo. Zeus did indeed feed Kronos a mixture of mustard and wine, which made him dislodge his other five children, who, of course, being immortal gods, had been living and growing up completely undigested in the Titan's stomach. The gods defeated their father, sliced him to pieces with his own scythe, and scattered his remains in Tartarus, the darkest part of the Underworld. On that happy note, it's time for lunch. Mrs. Dodds, would you lead us back outside?"

The class drifted off, the girls holding their stomachs, the guys pushing each other around and acting like doo-fuses.

Grover and I were about to follow when Mr Brunner said, "Mr. Di Angelo. "

I knew that was coming.

I told Grover to keep going. Then I turned toward Mr. Brunner. "Sir?"

Mr. Brunner had this look that wouldn't let you go- intense brown eyes that could have been a thousand years old and had seen everything.

"You must learn the answer to my question, " Mr. Brunner told me.

"About the Titans? "

"About real life. And how your studies apply to it."

"Oh."

"What you learn from me, " he said, "is vitally important. I expect you to treat it as such. I will accept only the best from you, Nico Di Angelo. "

I wanted to get angry, this guy pushed me so hard.

I mean, sure, it was kind of cool on tournament days, when he dressed up in a suit of Roman armor and shouted: "What ho!" and challenged us, sword-point against chalk, to run to the board snd name every Greek and Roman person who ever lived , and their mother, and what god they worshipped. But Mr. Brunner expected me to be as good as everybody else, despite the fact that I have dyslexia and ADHD and I had never made above a C in my life. No- he didn't expect me to be as good; he expected me to be better. And I just couldn't learn all those names and facts, much less spell them correctly.

I mumbled something about trying harder, while Mr. Brunner looked at the stele, like he'd been at this girl's funeral.

He told me to go outside and eat my lunch. As I started to turn I saw something, a figure standing by the stele, one that looked like a young girl.

The class gathered on the front steps of the museum, where we could watch the foot traffic along Fifth-grade Avenue.

Overhead, a huge storm was brewing, with clouds blacker than I'd ever seen over the city. I figured maybe it was global warming or something, because the weather all across New York state had been weird since Christmas. We'd had massive snow storms, flooding, wildfires from lightning strikes. I wouldn't have been surprised if this was a hurricane blowing in.

Nobody else seemed to notice. Some of the guys were pelting pigeons with Lunchables crackers. Nancy Bobofit was trying to pickpocket something from a lady's purse, and, of course, Mrs. Dodds wasn't seeing a thing.

Grover and I sat on the edge of the fountain, away from the others. We thought that maybe if we did that, everybody wouldn't know we were from that school- the school for loser freaks who couldn't make it elsewhere.

"Detention? " Grover asked.

"Nah," I said. "Not from Brunner. I just wish he'd lay off me sometimes. I mean- I'm not a genius. "

Grover didn't say anything for a while. Then, when he asked a deep philosophical question to make me feel better, "Can I have your apple?"

I didn't have much of an appetite, so I let him have it.

I watched the stream of cabs going down Fifth Avenue, and thought about my apartment, only a little ways uptown from where we sat. I hadn't seen her since Christmas. I wanted so bad to jump in a taxi and head home. She'd hug me and be glad to see me, but she'd be disappointed, too. She'd send my right back to Yancy, remind me I had to try harder, even if this was my sixth school in as many years and I probably was going to be kicked out again. I wouldn't be able to stand that sad look she'd give me.

Mr. Brunner parked his wheelchair at the base of the handicapped ramp. He ate celery while reading a paperback novel. A red umbrella stuck up from the back of his chair, making it look like a motorized café table.

I was about to unwrap my sandwich when Nancy Bobofit appeared in front of me with her ugly friends- I guess she'd gotten tired of stealing from the tourists- and dumped her half-eaten lunch in Grover's lap.

"Oops." She grinned at me with her crooked teeth. Her freckles were orange, as if somebody had spray-painted her face with liquid Cheetos.

I tried to stay calm. The school counselor had told me a million times, "Count to ten, get control of your temper." But I was so mad my mind went blank. A wail roared in my ears. I don't remember touching her, but the next thing I knew, Nancy was sitting on her butt in the fountain, screaming, "Nico pushed me!"

Mrs. Dodds materialized next to us.

Some of the kids were whispering: "Did you see-"

"-like something pulled her-"

I didn't know what they were talking about. All I knew was that I was in trouble again.

As soon as Mrs. Dodds was sure poor little Nancy was okay, promising to get her a new shirt at the museum gift shop, etc., ect., Mrs. Dodds turned on me. There was a triumphantfire in her eyes, as if I'd done something she'd been waiting for all semester. "Now, honey-"

"I know," I grumbled. "A month erasing workbooks."

That wasn't the right thing to say.

"Come with me," Mrs. Dodds said.

"Wait!" Grover helped. "It was me. I pushed her."

I stared at him, stunned. I couldn't believe he was trying to cover for me. Mrs. Dodds scared Grover to death.

She glared at him so hard his whiskery chin trembled.

"I don't think so, Mr. Underwood, " she said.

"But-"

"You- will- stay- here."

Grover looked at me desperately.

"It's okay," I told him. 'Thanks for trying. "

"Honey, " Mrs. Dodds barked at me. "Now."

Nancy Bobofit smirked.

I gave her my deluxe I'll-kill-you-later glare. Then I turned to face Mrs. Dodds, but she wasn't there. She was standing at the museum entrance, way at the top of the steps, gesturing impatiently at me to come on.

How'd she get there so fast?

I have moments like that a lot, when my brain d all's asleep or something, and the next thing I know I've missed something, as if a puzzle piece fell out of the universe and left me staring at the blank place behind it. The school counselor told me this was part of the ADHD, my brain misinterpreting things.

I wasn't so sure.

I went after Mrs. Dodds.

Halfway up the steps, I glanced back at Grover. He was looking pale, cutting his eyes between me and Mr. Brunner, like he wanted Mr. Brunner to notice what was going on, but Mr. Brunner was absorbed in his novel.

I looked back up. Mrs. Dodds had disappeared again. She was now inside the building, at the end of the entrance hall.

Okay, I thought. She's going to make me buy a new shirt for Nancy at the gift shop.

But apparently that wasn't the plan.

I followed her deeper into the museum. When I finally caught up to her, we were back in the Greek and Roman section.

Except for us, the gallery was empty.

Mrs. Dodds stood with her arms crossed in front of a big marble freeze of the Greek gods. She was making this weird noise in her throat, like growling.

Even without the noise, I would've been nervous. It's weird being alone with a teacher, especially Mrs. Dodds. Something about the way she looked at the frieze, ad if she wanted to pulverize it ...

"You've been giving us problems, honey," she said.

I did the safe thing. I said, "Yes, ma'am."

She tugged on the cuffs of her leather jacket. "Did you really think yoh would get away with it?"

The look in her eyes was beyond mad. It wad evil.

She's a teacher, I thought nervously. It"s not like she's going to hurt me.

I said, "I'll- I'll try harder, ma'am."

Thunder shook the building.

"We are not fools, Nico Di Angelo," Mrs. Dodds said. "It was only a matter of time before we found you out. Confess, and you will suffer less pain."

I didn't know what she was talking about.

All I could think of was that that the teachers must've found the illegal candy stash I'd been selling out of my dorm room. Or maybe they'd realized I got my essay on Moby Dick from the Internet without ever reading the book and now they were going to take away my grade. Or worse, make me read it.

"Well?" she demanded.

"Ma'am, I don't..."

"Your time is up," she hissed.

Then the weirdest thing happened. Her body began to shift, her jacket melted into fur. Wings started to grow from her back. Her arms lengthened into fore paws, her nails grooming into claws. She wasn't human. She was a lion with an old hag's head, giant leathery wings, and a mouth full of yellow fangs, and she was about to slice me to ribbons.

Then things got even stranger.

Mr. Brunner, who'd been out in front of the museum a minute before, wheeled his chair into the doorway of the gallery, holding a pen in his hand.

"What ho, Nico!" he shouted, and tossed the pen through the air.

With a yelp, I dodged and felt claws slash the air next to my ear. I snatched the ballpoint pen out of the air, but when it hit my hand, it wasn't a pen anymore. It was a sword- Mr. Brunner's bronze sword, which he always used on tournament day.

Mrs. Dodds spun toward me with a murderous look in her eyes.

My knees were jelly. My hands were shaking so bad I almost dropped the sword.

She snarled, "Die, honey!"

And she flew straight at me.

Absolute terror ran through my body. I did the only thing that came naturally: I swung the sword.

The metal blade hit her shoulder and passed clean through her body as if she were made of water. Hisss!

Mrs. Dodds was a sand castle in a power fan. She exploded into yellow powder, vaporized on the spot, leaving nothing but the smell of sulfur and a dying screech and a chill of evil in the air, as if those eyes were still watching me.

I was alone.

There was s ballpoint pen in my hand.

Mr. Brunner wasn't there. Nobody was there but me.

My hands were still trembling. My lunch must've been contaminated with magic mushrooms or something.

Had I imagined the whole thing?

I went back outside.

It had started to rain.

Grover was sitting by the fountain, a museum map tented over his head. Nancy Bobofit was still stand there, soaked from her swim in the fountain, grumbling to her ugly friends. When she saw me, she said, "I hope Mrs. Kerr whipped your butt."

I said, "Who?"

"Our teacher. Duh!"

I blinked. We didn't have a teacher named Mrs. Kerr. I asked Nancy what she was talking about.

She just rolled her eyes and turned away.

I asked Grover where Mrs. Dodds was.

He said, "Who?"

But he paused first, and he wouldn't look at me, so I thought he was messing with me.

"Not funny, man, " I told him. "This is serious."

Thunder boomed overhead.

I saw Mr. Brunner sitting under his red umbrella, reading his book, as if he'd never moved.

I went over to him.

He looked up, a little distracted. "Ah, that would be my pen. Please bring your own writing utensil in the future, Mr. Di Angelo. "

I handed Mr. Brunner his pen. I hadn't even realized I was still holding it.

"Sir," I said, "where's Mrs. Dodds?"

He stared at me blankly. "Who?"

"The other chaperone. Mrs. Dodds. The pre-algebra teacher."

He frowned and sat forwar, looking mildly concerned. "Nico, there is no Mrs. Dodds on this trip. As far as I know, there has never been a Mrs. Dodds at Yancy Academy. Are you feeling all right?"

This is my 1st fanfic so please don't be too harsh. Leave your comments and reviews if you want. Other than that just read and enjoy.


	2. Chapter 2

Nico Di Angelo and the Olympians: The Lightning Thief.

All rights go to Rick Riordan, I made this on a whim.

Monkey Typewriter: thanks for you review and bringing the typo problem to my attention, Mrs. Dodds was a sphinx, Hades wouldn't send a fury after his son. As for the other question, no Bianca will still be his sister.

Chapter 2: Three Old Ladies Knit The Socks Of Death

I was used to the occasional weird experience, but usually they were over quickly. This twenty-eight/seven hallucination was more than I could handle. For the rest of the school year, the entire campus seemed to be playing some kind of t err icky on me. The students acted as if they were completely convinced that Mrs. Kerr- a way too perky blond woman whom I'd never seen in my life until she got on our bus at the end of the field trip- had been our pre-algebra teacher since Christmas.

Every so often I would spring a Mrs. Dodds reference on someone, just to see if I could trip them up, but all I got were blank stares.

It got so bad I as most believed them- Mrs. Dodds had never existed.

Almost.

But Grover couldn't fool me. When I mentioned Mrs. Dodds to him, he would hesitate, then claim she didn't exist. But I knew he was lying.

Something was going on. Something had happened at the museum.

I didn't have much time to think about it during the days, but at night, visions of Mrs. Dodds with claws and wings would wake me up in a cold sweat.

The freak weather continued, which didn't help my mood. One night, a thunderstorm blew out the windows in my dorm room. A few days later, the biggest tornado ever spotted in the Hudson Valley touched down only fifty miles from Yancy Academy. One of the current events we studied in social studies class was the unusual number of small planes that had gone down in sudden squall in the Atlantic that year.

I started feeling cranky and irritable most of the time. My grades slipped from Cs to Fs. I got into more fights with Nancy Bobofit and her friends. I was sent out into the hallway in almost every class.

Finally, when our English teacher, Mr. Nicollet, asked me for the millionth time why I was too lazy to study for spelling test, I snapped. I called him an old spot. I wasn't even sure what it meant, but it sounded good.

The headmaster sent my mom a letter the following week, making it official: I would not be invited back next year to Yancy Academy.

Fine, I told myself. Just fine.

I was homesick.

I wanted to be in that little apartment on the Upper East Side, even if I had to go to public school and put up with my family.

And yet ... there were things I'd miss at Yancy. The view of the woods out my dorm window, the dark, quite nights, the smell of pine trees. I'd miss Grover, who'd been a good friend, even if he was a little strange. I worried how he'd survive next year without me.

I'd miss Latin class, too- Mr. Brunner's crazy tournament days and his faith that I could do well.

As exam week got closer, Latin was the only test I studied for. I hadn't forgotten what Mr. Brunner had told me about this subject being life-and-death for me. I wasn't sure why, but I'd started to believe him.

The evening before my final, I got so frustrated I threw the Cambridge Guide to Greek Mythology across my dorm room. Words had srarted swimming off the page, circling my head, the letters doing one-eighties as if they were riding skateboards. There was no way I was going to remember the difference between Chiron and Charing, or Polydictes and Polydeuces. And conjugating those Latin verbs? Forget it.

I paced the room, feeling like ants were crawling around inside my shirt.

I remembered Mr. Brunner's serious expression, his thousand-year-old eyes.

I took a deep breath. I picked up the mythology book.

I'd never asked a teacher for help before. Maybe if I talked to Mr. Brunner, he could give me some pointers. At least I could apologize for the big fat F I was about to score on his exam. I didn't want to leave Yancy Academy with him thinking I hadn't tried.

I walked downstairs to the faculty offices. Most of them were dark and empty, but Mr. Brunner's door was ajar, light from his window stretching across the hallway floor.

I was three steps from the door handle when I heard voices inside the office. Mr. Brunner asked a question. A voice that was definitely Grover's said "... worried about Nico, sir."

I froze.

I'm not usually an eavesdroper, but I dare you to try not listening if you hear your best friend talking about you to an adult.

I inched closer.

"... alone this summer," Grover was saying. "I mean a sphinx in the school! Now that we know for sure, and they know too-"

"We would only make matters worse by rushing him," Mr. Brunner said. "We need the boy to mature more."

"But he may not have time. The summer solstice deadline-"

"Will have to be resolved without him, Grover. Let him enjoy his ignorance while he still can."

"Sir, he saw her..."

"His imagination," Mr. Brunner insisted. "The Mist over the students and staff will be enough to convince him of that."

"Sir, I ... I can't fail in my duties again." Grover's voice was choked with emotion. "You know what that would mean."

You haven't failed, Grover," Mr. Brunner said kindly. "I should have seen her for what she was. Now let's just worry about keeping Nico alive until next fall-"

The mythology book dropped out of my hand and hit the floor with a thud.

Mr. Brunner went silent.

My heart hammering, I picked up the book and backed down the hall.

A shadow slid across the lighted glass of Brunner's office door, the shadow of something much taller than my wheelchair-bound teacher, holding something that looked suspiciously like an archer's bow.

I opened the nearest door and slipped inside.

A few seconds later I heard a slow clop-clop-clop, like muffled wood blocks, then a souls like an animal sniffling right outside my door. A large, dark shaped paused in front of the glass, then moved on.

A bead of sweat trickled down my neck.

Somewhere in the hallway, Mr. Brunner spoke. "Nothing," he murmured. "My nerves haven't been right since the winter solstice."

"Mine neither," Grover said. "But I could have sworn..."

"Go back to the dorm," Mr. Brunner told him. "You've got a long day of exams tomorrow."

"Don't remind me."

The lights went out in Mr. Brunner's office.

I waited in the dark for what seemed like forever.

Finally, I slipped out into the hallway and made my way back to the dorm.

Grover was lying on his bed, studying his Latin exam notes like he'd been there all night.

"Hey," he said, bleary-eyed. "You going to be ready for this test?"

I didn't answer.

"You look awful." He frowned. "Is everything okay?"

"Just... tired".

I turned so he couldn't read my expression, and started getting ready for bed.

I didn't understand what I'd heard downstairs. I wanted to believe I'd imagined the whole thing.

But one thing was clear: Grover and Mr. Brunner were talking about me behind my back. They thought I was in some kind of danger.

The next afternoon, as I was leaving the three-hour Latin exam, my eyes swimming with all the Greek and Roman names I'd miss, Mr. Brunner called me back inside.

For a moment, I was worried he'd found out about my eavesdropping the night before, but that didn't seem to be the problem.

"Nico," he said. "Don't be discouraged about leaving Yancy. It's... for it's for the best."

His tone was kind, but the words still hurt me. Even though he was speaking quietly, the other kids finishing the test could hear. Nancy Bobofit smirked at me and made sarcastic little kissing motions with her lips.

I mumbled, "Okay, sir."

"I mean..." Mr. Brunner wheeled his chair back and forth, like he wasn't sure what to say. "This isn't the right place for you. It was only a matter of time."

My eyes stung, my face was burning.

Here was my favorite teacher, in front of the class, telling me I couldn't handle it. After saying he believed in me, that he had faith in me, all year, now he was telling me I was destined to get kicked out.

"Right," I said, trembling.

"No, no," Mr. Brunner said. "Oh, confound it all. What I'm trying to say... you're not normal, Nico. That's nothing to be-"

"Thanks," I blurted. "Thanks a lot, sir, for reminding me."

"Nico-"

But I was already gone.

On the last day of the term, I shoved my clothes into my suitcase.

The other guys were joking around, talking about their vacation plans. One of them was going on a hiking trip to Switzerland. Another was cruising the Caribbean for a month. They were juvenile delinquents, like me, but they were rich juvenile delinquents. Their daddies were executives or ambassadors, or celebrities. I was a nobody, from a family of nobodies.

They asked me what I'd be doing this summer and I told them I was going back to the city.

What I didn't tell them was that I'd have to get a summer job walking dogs or selling magazine subscriptions, and spend my free time worrying about where I'd go to school in the fall.

"Oh," one of the guys said. "That's cool."

They went back to their conversation as if I'd never existed.

The only person i dreaded saying good-bye to was Grover, but as it turned out, I didn't have to. He'd booked a ticket to Manhattan on the same Greyhound as I had, so there we were, together again, heading into the city.

During the whole bus ride, Grover kept glancing nervously down the aisle, watching the other passengers. It occurred to me he'd always acted nervous and fidgety when we left Yancy, as if he expected something bad to happen. Before, I'd always assumed he was worried about getting teased. But there was nobody to tease him on the Greyhound.

Finally I couldn't stand it anymore.

I said, "Looking for a sphinx?"

Grover nearly jumped out of his seat. "Wha-what do you mean?"

I confessed about eavesdropping on him and Mr. Brunner the night before the exam.

Grover's eye twitched. "How much did you hear?"

"Oh... not much. What's the summer solstice deadline?"

He winced. "Look, Nico... I was just worried for you see? I mean, hallucinating about monster math teachers..."

"Grover-"

"And I was telling Mr. Brunner that maybe you were overstressed or something, because there was no such person as Mrs. Dodds, and..."

"Grover, you're a really, really bad liar."

His ears turned pink.

From his shirt pocket, he fished out a grubby business card. "Just take this, okay? In case you need me this summer."

The card was in fancy script, which was murder on my dyslexic eyes, but I finally made out something like:

Grover Underwood

Keeper

Half-blood Hill

Long Island, New York

(800) 009-0009

"What's Half-"

"Don't say it aloud!" he yelped. "That's my, um... summer address."

My heart sank. Grover had a summer home. I'd never considered that his family might be as rich as the others at Yancy.

"Only," I said glumly. "So, like, if I want to come visit your mansion."

He nodded. "Or... or if you need me."

"Why would I need you?"

It came out harsher than I meant it to.

Grover blushed right down to his adam's apple. "Look, Nico, the truth is, I- I kind of have to protect you."

I stared at him.

All year long, I'd gotten in fights, keeping bullies away from him. I'd lost sleep worrying that he'd get beaten up next year without me. And here he was acting like he was the one who defended me.

"Grover," I said, "what exactly are you protecting me from?"

There was a huge grinding noise under our feet. Black smok e poured from the dashboard and the whole bus filled with a smell like rotten eggs. The driver cursed and limped the Greyhound over to the side of the highway.

After a few minutes clanking around in the engine compartment, the driver announced that we'd all have to get off. Grover and I filed outside with everybody else.

We were on a stretch of country road- no place you'd notice if you didn't break down there. On our side of the highway was nothing but maple trees and litter from passing cars. On the other side, across four lanes of asphalt shimmering with afternoon heat, was an old-fashioned fruit stand.

The stuff on sale looked really good: heaping boxes of blood red cherries and apples, walnuts and apricots, jugs of cider in a claw-foot tub full of ice. There were no customers, just three old ladies sitting in rocking chairs in the shade of a maple tree, knitting the biggest pair of socks I'd ever seen.

I mean these socks were the size of sweaters, but they were clearly socks. The lady on the right knitted one of them. They lady on the left knitted the other. The lady in the middle held an enormous basket of pitch black yarn.

All three women looked ancient, with pale faces wrinkled like fruit leather, silver hair tied back in white bandanas, bony arms sticking out of bleached cotton dresses.

The weirdest thing was, they seemed to be looking right at me.

I looked over at Grover to say something about this and saw that the blood had drained from his face. His nose was twitching.

"Grover?" I said. "Hey, man-"

"Tell me they're not looking at you. They are, aren't they?"

"Yeah. Weird, huh?"

The old lady in the middle took out a huge pair of scissors- gold and silver, long-bladed, like shears. I heard Grover catch his breath.

"We're getting on the bus," he told me. "Come on."

"What?" I said. "It's a thousand degrees in there."

"Come on!" He pried open the door and climbed inside, but I stayed back.

Across the road, the old ladies were still watching me. The middle one cut the yarn, and I swear I could hear that snip across four lanes of traffic. Her two friends balled the pitch black socks, leaving me wondering who they could possibly be for.

At the rear of the bus, the driver wrenched a big chunk of smoking metal out of the engine compartment. The bus shuddered, and the engine roared back to life.

The passengers cheered.

"Damn right!" yelled the driver. He slapped the bus with his hat. "Everybody back on board!"

Once we got going, I started feeling feverish, as if I'd caught the flu.

Grover didn't look much better. He was shivering and his teeth were chattering.

"Grover?"

"Yeah?"

"What are you not telling me?"

He dabbed his forehead with his shirt sleeve. "Nico, what did you see back at the fruit stand?"

"You mes n the old ladies? What is it about them? They're not like... Mrs. Dodds, are they?"

His expression was hard to read, but I got the feeling that the fruit-stand ladies were something big, much worse than Mrs. Dodds. He said, "Just tell me what you saw."

"The middle one took out her scissors, and she cut the yarn."

He closed his eyes and made a gesture with his fingers that might've been crossing himself, but it wasn't. It was something else, something older.

He said, "You saw her snip the cord."

"Yeah. So?" But even as I said it, I knew it was a big deal.

"Th iith s is not happening," Grover mumbled. He started chewing at his thumb. "I don't want this to be like the last time."

"What last time?"

"Almost sixth grade. They never get past sixth."

"Grover," I said, because he was really starting to scare me. "What are you talking about?"

"Let me w as 'll you home from the bus station. Promise me."

This seemed like a strange request to me, but I promised he could.

"Is this like a superstition or something?" I asked.

No answer.

"Grovet- that snipping of the yarn. Does that mean somebody is going to die?"

He looked at me mournfully, like he was already picking the kind of flowers I'd like best on my coffin.

Please review, I'd love to answer any questions.


	3. Chapter 3

Nico Di Angelo and the Olympians: The Lightning Thief.

All rights go to Rick Riordan, I made this on a whim.

Chapter 3: Home

I ditched Grover as soon as we got to the terminal.

I know, I broke my promise to him, but Grover was freaking me out, Looking at me like I was dead, muttering "Why does this always happen?" and "Why does it always have to be sixth grade?"

Whenever he got upset, Grover's bladder acted up, so I wasn't surprised when as soon as we got off the bus, he made me promise to wait for him, the made a beeline for the restroom. Instead of waiting, I got my suitcase, slipped outside, and caught a taxi uptown.

"East One-hundred-and-fourth and First," I told the driver.

A few words about my family, before you meet them.

My mother's name is Maria Di Angelo, and is a complete failure as a mother to me. She's from a rich Italian family so she never had to worry about money, until she had my sister out of wedlock. My mother had meet some guy when she moved to America, they had my sister and then me a year and half later was born. Soon after I was born my father left and never came back. My mother blames me, so while she dots on my sister, she shuns me.

Then there is my sister Bianca. She gets everything I don't. I try not resent her but it's hard, my sister had friends growing up, she never had to leave to go to a boarding school, she never had her birthday forgotten. Bianca was open, friendly, and naive, every thing I am not. Bianca didn't notice that mother didn't care for me, but Bianca was always nice to me.

Then there was my neighbor who lived down the hall from me, Sally Jackson. She was the nicest person in the world but had the worst luck. Her parents had died in a plane crash when she was young, and raised by an uncle who could care less about her. She wanted to be a novelist, so she spent high school working to save enough money for a college with a good creative-writing program. Then her uncle got cancer, and she had to drop out her senior year to take care of him. After he died, she was left with no money, no family, and no diploma.

The only good thing in her life was her son, Percy. He was just a little younger than me, and had ran away when he was six. Sally never gave up looking for him though. She worked at a candy shop in Grand Central station and did odd jobs for cash. Ever since I meet her four years ago, when we moved in, she has been more of a mother to me than mine. Sally always remembered my birthday, every year she got me a black cake. Maybe I should explain the black cake, you see when I was little I asked my mom for a black cackle for my birthday, she said there was no such thing as black food unless it was burned. Sally overhead and since then had made it a point to make black food for me.

I walked into my little apartment, hoping my mom wouldn't be home, of course she was.

"Where's Bianca?"

"Out," she said. "You got any money?"

That was it. No 'Welcome back. Good to see you. How has hour life been the last six months?'

My mother managed at the Macy's in Queens, but she hardly ever showed up. I don't know why she hadn't been fired yet. She just kept collecting paychecks, spending the money on cigarettes that made me sick, and wine. Whenever I came home she expected for me to provide for her clothes budget.

"I don't have any cash," I told her.

She raised an eyebrow. My mother could sniff out money like a blood hound.

"You took a taxi from the bus station," she said. "You probably paid with a twenty. Got six, seven buck in change. Somebody wants to eat tonight they should carry their own weight."

"Fine," I said. I dug a wad of dollars out of my pocket and threw it one the table. "I hope you choke on it."

"Your report card came, whiz kid!" he shouted after me. "I wouldn't act so high and mighty!"

I slammed the door to my room, which really wasnt my room. During the school year it was my mother's closet. She loved stuffing my few belongings into the closet, laying her clothes everywhere, and making it smell like her cheap perfume.

I dropped my suitcase on my bed. Home sweet home.

My mothers perfume was almost as bad as the Mrs. Dodds nightmares, or the sound of that old fruit lady's shears snipping the yarn.

But as soon as I thought that, I felt a chill. Like something was coming for me. I remembered Grover's look of panic- how he made me promise I wouldn't leave with out him.

Then I heard my sister's voice. "Nico?"

She opened the bedroom door and came in. My sister was slightly taller than me, with taned olive skin, and hair just a shade lighter than my jet black hair.

She ran over to me and wrapped me in a hug. "It's so good to see you again!" She squealed.

"It's good to see you too Bianca. Now could you maybe put me down?"

"Oops! Sorry about that." She looked excited. She was still the big kid on the inside. "So has Mom told you the big surprise?" she asked.

"No, what is it, are we going on another fashion tour?" I asked, (this is usually what we do when I come home, and guess who gets to carry all the new clothes).

"No, Mrs. Jackson invited us to go to Montauk for three days!" She exclaimed.

I couldn't believe it. My mother loathed Mrs. Jackson. There's no way she would take her up on it. "I need to go talk to Mrs. Jackson, is she home?"

"Yeah, she just got home, why?" Bianca asked puzzled. But I was already out the door.

I ran out the door past my mother, who of course paid no attention, and I flew down the hall like a spectre. I got to Sally's door and let myself in with the key she gave me.

I went in and found her still wearing her Sweet on America uniform.

"Sally!"

"Nico!" she exclaimed as she turned to face me. Her smile is sweet and warm, like hot chocolate. Whenever she smiles at me, it's like she's seeing all the good things about me, none of the bad.

"Oh Nico." she hugged me tight. "I can't believe it. You've grown so much since Christmas!"

She smelled like the best things in the world: chocolate, caramel, and all the other stuff she sold at the candy shop. We sat down and she demanded to know everything I hadn't told her in my letters. She wasn't upset about my expulsion, she didn't care. Bit was as I okay? Was I doing all right?

After our reunion hug I asked her if what my sister said was true.

"Yes, it's true. Your mother took some convicting, but I finally got her to say yes."

" When do we leave?"

She smiled "As soon as I get changed."

I couldn't believe it. I hadn't been to Montauk since two years ago. My mother kept saying we didn't have the money, which I believed since she spent it all on clothes. I raced back to my room to pack.

Ten minutes later we were ready to leave. I would ride with Sally and Bianca would ride with my mother. Bianca came out ro hug me and send me off, my mother came down to throw some luggage at me.

"Careful with my stuff boy. I don't anything missing when I get there." With that she walked back to the apartment.

Watching her walk back to the apartment building, I got so made I did something I can't explain. As she reached the doorway, I made the hand gesture I'd seen Grover make on the bus, a sort of wording-off-evil gesture, a clawed hand over my heart, then a shoving movement towards her. The screen door slammed shut so hard it whacked her in the butt and sent her flying up the staircase as if she'd been shot from a cannon. Maybe it was just a coincidence, maybe it was a sign, but I didn't stay long enough to find out.

I got in the car and asked Sally to step on it.

I know this is shorter than my other chapters but I was excited to post this. Please tell me what you think of Nico's home life.


	4. Chapter 4

Nico Di Angelo and the Olympians: The Lightning Thief.

All rights go to Rick Riordan, I made this on a whim.

Chapter 4: Montauk

Montauk was a stretch of beach on Long Island. Our rental cabin was on the south shore, way out at the tip. It was a little pastel box with faded curtains, half buried by the sand. There was always sand in the sheets and spiders in the cabinets, and the water was usually to cold to swim.

I loved it.

I'd been coming for a few years. Mrs. Jackson had been coming even longer. She never said it but I could feel this was a special place for her. This was were Percy ran away.

We arrived at sunset, opened the windows, and started to clean the place up. We walked on the beach feeding black chips to the gulls, and munched on all the 'free samples' Sally had gotten from work.

By the time it got dark my mother and Bianca had arrived. Bianca and I made a fire, and we roasted hotdogs and marshmallows. Sally told us stories about way back in the 80's, how cellphones where huge and the Fonz rode over sharks. Mother sat off to the side reading her gossip magazines and only talking when Bianca asked a question.

Eventually, Bianca asked something that was always on her mind, what was our father like?

"He was handsome, tall and dark. His hair was jet black like your brother's. He was cold, but passionate. He was from a wealthy and powerful family, but he never know how to spend the money. You have his smile Bianca."

"How old were we?" I asked. "When he left?"

'We were only together for two years. Bianca was a year and a half, you, he never knew. He left right after my first week of pregnancy. He left because of you."

I was angry. She blamed me for him leaving, someone she loved for his money.

"You want to blame me?" I said, my voice raising. "It's not my fault I was born, I didn't get to choose what family I would be born into. You think I want you as a mother?"

"Mom, Nico, please calm down," Bianca pleaded, obviously scared of our fighting.

"Yes, it is your fault you ungrateful brat! He left because he knew you would be a worthless, pathetic, ungrateful, child! Look at you, you dont have any friends, you get kicked out of every school, and you fail every subject!"

"He left because he saw what a heartless bitch you were. He left because he couldn't stand to put up with you anymore!"

As I shouted at her, my voice grew raw. I could feel my anger raising, the shadows grew darker, the fire dimmed, the air grew cold and I could sense Bianca cowering under her blanket.

Then the last thing I ever thought would happen happened. Sally Jackson, the the most calm and collected person I had ever met went up to my mother and slapped her across the face. Sally Jackson, who never got mad and never said anything bad about anyone had just slapped my mother.

"That's enough out of you. You call your self a mother? Blaming Nico form things he can't possibly have done, saying such awful things to him!"

"You bitch!" My mother shrieked. "How dare you touch me. You're so pathetic, it's no wonder that your son ran away!"

That was the last straw. I was used to being insulted by my mother, but I was not going to let her talk about Sally. My rage started to boil over. My vision started to grow blurry, my hands shook. The air around us grew frigid, the fire almost went out, and a rumbling could be felt in the earth.

"Nico, you need to calm down," I head Sally say in a calm tone, "You are scaring your sister, and you need to calm yourself. I know she shouldn't be forgiven but this is not the answer."

After a few minutes I had calmed down enough to speak. Sally sat next to me, comforting me. Bianca was still hiding under the blankets, while Mother sat in her chair, obviously cowed into being quiet.

"Now Nico, we need to get you somewhere safe."

"What do you mean?" I asked in a shaky voice.

"We need to take you somewhere for people like you, for people like you, people who are different."

Her words reminded me of what Mr. Brunner said at Yancy. That it would be for the best if I left.

"Where would i go?"

"You and your sister would go to a camp Percy's father wanted to send him to. I couldn't stand to send Percy there, I tried to keep him close and he ran."

She turned toward the fire, and I knew that if I pressed her further she would start to cry.

That night I had a dream.

It was storming on the beach, and two beautiful animals, a white horse and a golden eagle, were trying to kill each other at the edge of the surf. The eagle swooped down and slashed the horse's muzzle with it talons. The horse reared up and kicked at the eagle's wings. As they fought, the ground rumbled, and a monstrous voice chuckled somewhere beneath the earth, goading the animals to fight harder.

I ran towards them, knowing I had to stop them from killing each other, but I was running in slow motion. I knew I would be to late. I saw the eagle dive down, its beak aimed at the horse's wide eyes, and I screamed, 'No!'

I woke in a cold sweat.

Outside, it was really storming, the kind of storm that cracks trees and blows down houses. There was no horse or eagle on the beach, just lighting making false daylight, and twenty-foot waves pounding the dunes like artillery.

With the next thunderclap, everyone else woke. Sally sat up, eyes wide, and said, "Hurricane."

I knew f2f hat was crazy. Long Island never sees hurricanes this early in the summer. But the ocean seemed to have forgotten. Over the roar of the wind, I heard a distant bellow, an angry, tortured sound that made my hair stand on end.

Then a much closer noise, like mallet in the sand. A desperate voice- someone yelling, pounding on our cabin door.

Sally sprang out of bed in her nightgown and threw open the lock.

Grover stood framed in the doorway against a backdrop or pouring rain. But he wasn't... he wasn't exactly Grover.

"Searching all night," he gasped. "What were you thinking"

Sally looked at me in terror- not scared of Grover, but of why he'd come.

"Nico," she said, shouting to be heard over the rain. "What happened at school? What didn't you tell me?"

I was frozen, looking at Grover. I couldn't understand what I was seeing.

"O Zeu kai alloi theoi! " he yelled. "It's right behind me! Didn't you tell her? "

I was too shocked trouble register that he'd just cursed in Ancient Greek, and I'd understood hin perfectly. I was too shocked to wonder how Grover had gotten here by himself in the middle of the night. Because Grover didn't have his pants on- and where his legs should be... where his legs should be...

Sally looked at me sternly and talked in a tone she'd never used before: "Nico. Tell me now!"

I stammered something about the old ladies at the fruit stand, and Mrs. Dodds, and my mother stared at me, her face deathly pale in the flashes of lightning.

Sally grabbed her purse, tossednme my jacket, and said, "Get to the car. All of you. Go!"

Grover ran for the Camaro- but he wasn't running, exactly. He was trotting, shaking his shaggy headquarters, and suddenly his story about a muscular disorder in his legs made sense to me. I understood how he could run so fast and still limp when he walked.

Because where his feet should be, there were no feet. There were cloven hooves.

Thats all for this chapter. Please review, I'd love any input.


	5. Chapter 5

Nico Di Angelo and the Olympians: The Lightning Thief.

All rights go to Rick Riordan, I made this on a whim.

Chapter 5: My Neighbor teaches me bullfighting

We tore through the night along dark country roads. Wind slammed against the Camaro. Rain lashed the windshield. I didn't know how sally could see anything, but she kept her foot on the gas.

Every time there was a flash of lightning, I looked at Grover sitting between me and Bianca in the back seat and I wondered If I'd gone insane, or if he was wearing some kind of dhag-carpet pants. But, no, the smell was one I remembered from kindergarten field trips to petting zoos- lanolin, like from wool. The smell of a wet barnyard animal.

All I could think to say was, "So, you and Sally... know each other?"

Grover's eyes flirted to the rearview mirror, though there were no cars behind us. "Not exactly," he said. "I mean, we 've never met in person. But she knew I Eeew as watching you."

"Watching me?"

"Keeping tabs on you. Making sure you were okay. But I wasn't faking being your friend," he added hastily. "I am your friend."

Bianca spoke up from beside us asking, "Um... what ate you, exactly?"

"That doesn't matter right now."

"It kinda does. From the waist down my brothers friend ia a donkey-"

Grover let out a sharp, throaty "Blaa-ha-ha!"

I'd heard him make that sound before, but I'd always assumed it was a nervous laugh. Now I realized it was more of an irritated bleat.

"Goat!" He cried.

"What?"

"I'm a goat from the waist down."

"I thought it didn't matter."

"Blaa-ha-ha! There are stayed who would trample you Underwood for such an insult!"

"Whoa. Wait. Satyrs. You mean like... Mr. Brunner's myths?

"Were those old ladies at the fruit stand a myth, Nico? Was Mrs. Dodds a myth?"

"So you admit there was a Mrs. Dodds!"

"Of course."

"Then why-"

"The less you knew, the fewer monsters you'd attract," Grover said, like it was perfectly obvious. "We put Mist over the the humans' eyes. We hoped you'd think the sphinx was a hallucination. But it was no good. You started to realize who you are."

"Who I- wait a minute, what do you mean?"

The weird bellowing noise rose up again somewhere behind us, closer than before. Whatever was chasing us was still on our trail.

My mother was in the front passenger seat being uncharacteristically quite. She hadn't said a word since she had seen Grover.

"Nico," my on said, "there's too much to explain and not enough time. We have to get you and your sister to safety."

"Safety from what? Who's after us?"

"Oh nobody much," Grover said, obviously still miffed about the donkey comment. "Just the Lord of rhe Dead and a few of his blood-thirstiest minions."

"Grover!"

"Sorry, Mrs. Jackson. Could you drive faster, please?"

I tried to wrap my mind around what was happening, but I couldn't do it. I knew this wasn't a dream. I had no imagination. I could never dream up something this weird.

Sally made a hard left. We swerved onto a narrower road, racing past darkened farmhouses and wooden hills and PICK YOUR OWN STRAWBERRIES signs on white picket fences.

"Where are we going?" Bianca asked.

"The summer camp I was supposed to take my son to." Her voice was tight; she was trying for my sake not to be scared.

"Why do we have to go to some summer camp?" Bianca asked.

"Please, dears," Sally begged. "This is hard enough. Try to understand. You two are in danger."

"Because some old ladies cut yarn."

"Those weren't old ladies," Grover said. "Those were the Fates. Do you know what it means- the fact they appered in front of th out? They only do that when you're about to... when someone's about to die."

"Whoa. You said 'you.'"

"No I didn't. I said 'someone.'"

"You meant 'you.' As in me."

"Boys!" Sally said.

She pulled the wheel hard to the right, and I got a glimpse of the figure she'd swerved to avoid- a dark fluttering shape now lost behind us in the storm.

"What was that?" I asked.

"We're almost there," Sally said, ignoring my question. "Another mile. Please. Please. Please."

I didn't know where there was, but I found myself leaning toward in the car, anticipating, wanting to arrive.

Outside, nothing. But rain and darkness- the kind of empty countryside you get way out on the tip of Long Island. I thought about Mrs. Dodds and the moment when she'd changed into the thing with pointed teeth and large wings. My limbs went numb from delayed shock. She really hadn't been human. She'd meant to kill me.

Then I thought about Mr. Brunner... and the sword he had thrown me. Before I could ask Grover about that, the hair rose on the back of my neck. There was a blinding flash, an jaw-rattling boom!, and the car exploded.

I remember feeling weightless, like I was being crushed, fried, and hosed down all at the same time.

I peeled my forehead off the back of the front seat and said, "Ow."

"Nico, Bianca!" Sally shouted.

"We're okay..."

I tried to shake off the daze. I wasn't dead. The car hadn't really exploded. We'd swerved into a ditch. Our drive'ss-side doors were wedged in the mud. The roof had cracked open like an eggshell and rain was pouring in.

Lightning. That was the only explanation. We'd been blasted right off the road. Next to me in the backseat was a motionless lump. "Grover!"

He was slumped over, blood trickling from the side of his mouth. I shook his furry hip, thinking, No! Even if you are half barnyard animal, you're my best friend and I don't want you to die!

Then he groaned "Food," and I knew there was hope.

"Nico, Bianca, " Sally said, "we have to..." her voice faltered.

I looked back in a flash of lightning, through the mud-spattered rear windshield, I saw a figured lumbering toward us on the shoulder of the road. The sight of it made my skin crawl. It was a dark silhouette of a huge guy, like a football player. He seemed to be holding a blanket over his head. His top half was bulky and fuzzy. His praised hands made it look like he had horns.

I swallowed hard. "Who is-"

"Nico," Sally said, dead serious. "Get out of the car."

Sally threw herself against the drive's-side door. It was jammed shut in the mud. I tried mine. Stuck too. I looked up desperately at the h ole in the roof. It might've been an exit, but the edges were sizzling and smoking.

"Nico, Sally climb out on the passenger's side!" Bianca yelled, already out with my mother climbing out of the front.

"Nico- you and your sister have to run. Do you see that big tree?"

"What?"

Another flash of lightning, and through the smoking hole in the roof I saw the tree she meant" a huge, White House Christmas tree-sized pine at the crest of the nearest hill.

"That's the property line," Sally said. "Get over that hill and you'll see a big farmhouse down in the valley. Run and don't look back. Yell for help. Don't stop until you reach the door.

"Sally, you're coming too."

Her face was pale, her sad eyes showed that she knew what was coming.

"No!" I shouted. "You are coming with us. Help me carry Grover."

"Food!" Grover moaned, a little louder.

The man with the blanket on his head kept coming toward us, making his grunting, snorting noises. As he got closer, I realized he wasn't holding a blanket over his head, his hands- huge meaty hands- were swinging at his sides. There was no blanket. Meaning the bulky, fuzzy mass that was too big to be his head... was his head. And the points that looked like horns...

"He doesn't want us," she told me. "He wants you. Besides, I can't cross the property line."

"But..."

"We don't have time, Nico. Go. Please."

I got mD, then- made at Sally, at Grover the goat, at the thing with horns that was lumbering toward us slowly and deliberately like, like a bull.

I climbed across Grover putting a foot into the rain. "We're going together. Come on, Sally."

"I told you-"

"Sally! I am not leaving with out you. Help me with Grover."

I didn't wait for her answer. I scrambled outside, dragging Grover from the car. He was surprisingly light, but I couldn't have carried him very far if Sally hadn't come to my aid.

Together, we draped Grover's arms over our shoulders and started stumbling through wet waist-high grass.

Glancing back, I got my first clear look at the monster. He was seven feet tall, easy, his arms and legs like something from the cover of Muscle Man magazine- bulging biceps and triceps and a bunch of other 'ceps, all stuffed like baseballs under vein-webbed skin. He wore no clothes except underwear- I mean, bright white Fruit of the Looms- which would've looked funny, except that the top half of his body was so scary. Coarse brown hair started at about half his belly button and got thicker as it reached hia shoulders.

His neck was a mass of muscle and fur leading up to his enormous head, which had a snout as long as my arm, Scotty nostrils with a gleaming brass ring, cruel black eyes, and horns- enormous black-and-white horns with points you just couldn't get from an electric sharpener.

I recognized the monster, all right. He had been in one of the first stories Mr Brunner told us. But he couldn't be real.

I blinked the rain out of my eyes. "That's-"

"Pasiphae's son," Sally said. "I wish I'd known how badly they want to kill you two."

"But he's the Min-"

"Don't say his name," she warned. "Names have power."

The pine tree was still way to far- a hundred yards uphill at least. Bianca and my mother were just a few yards ahead of us.

I glanced behind me again.

The bull-man hunched over the car, looking in the windows- or not looking exactly. More like sniffling, nuzzling. I wasn't sure why he bothered, since we were only about fifty feet away.

"Food?" Grover moaned.

"Shhh," I told him. "Sally, what's he doing? Can't he see us?"

"His sight and hearing are terrible," she said. "He goes by smell. But he'll figure out where we are soon enough."

As if on cue, the bull-man bellowed in rage. He picked up the Camaro by the torn roof, the chassis creaking and groaning. He raised the car over his head and threw it down the road. It slammed into the wet asphalt and skidded in a shower of sparks for about half a mile before coming to a stop. The gas tank exploded.

"Nico," sally said. "When he sees us, he'll charge. Wait until the last second, then jump out of the way- directly sideways. He can't change directions very well once he's charging. Do you understand?"

"Yeah, I understand."

Another bellow of rage, and the bull-man started tromping uphill.

He'd smelled us.

The pine tree was only a few more yards, but the hill was getting steeper and slicker, and Grover wasn't getting any lighter.

The bull-man closed in. Another few seconds and he'd be on top of us.

Sally must have been exhausted, but she shouldered Grover. "Go, Nico! Separate! Remember what I said."

I didn't want to split up, but I had the feeling she was right- it was our only chance. I sprinted to the left, turned, and saw the creature bearing down on me. His black eyes glowed with hate. He reeked of rotting flesh.

He lowered his head and charged, those razor-sharp horns aimed straight at my chest.

The fear in my stomach made me want to run, but that wouldn't work. I could neveroutrun it. So I held my ground, and at the last moment, I leaped to the side.

The thing stir past like a freight train, then bellowed with frustration and turned, but not towards me, towards Sally and Bianca, who where setting Grover down in the grass, and my mother who stood near by.

My mother saw it looking in her direction and did the stupidest thing ever. She screamed, and while this thing might have bad hearing, it could still hear somebody screaming right in front of it.

It charged towards them. My mother tried to out run it. It caught her, and kept up it's charge towards Sally. She tried to sidestep, as she'd told me to do. But the monster had learned his lesson. His hand shot out and grabbed her by the neck as she tried to get away. He lifted her and my mother into the air as they struggled, kicking and pummeling the air.

"Mom!" Bianca cried.

"Sally!"

She caught my eyes, and managed to choke out one last word: "Go!"

Then, with an angry roar, the monster closed his fists around their necks, and the dissolved before our eyes, melting into light, a shimmering golden forms, as if they were holographic projections. A blinding flash, and the were simply... gone.

"Noooo! "

Anger and hatred over took my fear. Newfound strength burned in my veins. I was beyond angry, I was pissed. This thing had taken away one of the few people I loved. It was going to pay.

The bull-man bore down on Grover and my grief stricken sister. The monster hunched over, snuffling them, as if he were about to lift them up and make them dissolve too.

I wouldn't allow that.

I picked up a nearby rock and threw it at the thing's head.

"Hey!" I screamed, waving my arms, running to one side of the monster. "Hey, ugly! Burger meat!"

"Reasserted!" The monster turned toward me, shaking his meaty fists.

I put my back to the big pine tree and threw another rock at it.

The bull-man charged fast, his arms out to grab me whichever way I dodged.

Time slowed down.

My legs tensed. I couldn't jump sideways, so I leaped straight up, kicking off from the creature's head, using it as a springboard, turning in midair, and landing on his neck. A millisecond later, the monster's head slammed into the tree and the impact nearly knocked my teeth out.

The bull-man staggered around, trying to shake me. I locked my arms around his horns to keep from being thrown. Thunder and lightning were still going strong. The rain was in my eyes. The smell of rotten meat burned my nostrils.

The monster shook himself around and bucked like a rodeo bull. He should have just backed up into the tree and smashed me, but it only had one gear: foward.

Meanwhile, Grover started groaning in the grass. "Food!" he moaned.

The bull-man wheeled toward him, passed the ground again, and got ready to charge. I thought about how he had squeezed the life out of Sally, made her disappear in a flash of light, and my rage fueled me like high-octane fuel. I grabbed one horn with both hands and pulled backward with everything I had. The thing under me tensed, gave a surprised grunt, then- snap!

The bull-man bellowed and flung me through the air. I tucked into a roll and landed in the grass, but I rolled to hard and fast and hit a rock with my head. When I sat back up, my vision was blurry, but I had a horn in my hands, a ragged bone weapon the size of a knife.

The monster charged.

Without hesitation, I rolled to one side and came up kneeling. As the monster barreled past, I drove the broken horn straight into his side, right up under his furry rib cage, using all my hatred and anger to push it deeper.

The bull-man roared in agony. He flair, clawing at his chest, then began to disintegrate- not like Sally's or my mother's, but like crumbling sand, blown away in chunks by the wind.

He was gone.

The rain had stopped. The storm still rumbled, but only in the distance. I smelled like livestock and my knees were shaking. My head felt like it was going to split open. I was weak and scared and trembling with grief. I'd just seen the closest person I had to a mother vanish. I wanted to lie down and cry, but Bianca and Grover needed me. I managed to haul them up and stagger down into the valley, towards the lights of the farmhouse. I was crying, calling for my lost surrogate mother, but I held onto Bianca and Grover- I wasn't letting them go.

The last thing I remember is collapsing on a wooden porch, looking up at a ceiling fan circling above me, moths flying around a yellow light, and the stern faces of a familiar-looking bearded man and a girl with blond hair. They both looked down at me, and the girl said, "He's the one. He must be."

"Silence, Annabeth," the man said. "He's still conscious. Bring them inside."

That's all for this chapter. Please review I'm open to ideas. I could also use some name ideas for Nico's sword, if you have an idea please submit it.


	6. Chapter 6

Nico Di Angelo and the Olympians: The Lightning Thief.

All rights go to Rick Riordan, I made this on a whim.

Chapter 6: I Play Pinochle with a Horse

I had strange dreams full of barnyard animals. Most of them wanted to kill me. The rest wanted food.

I must've woken up several times, but what I heard and saw made no sense, so I just passed out again. I remember lying in a soft bed, being spoon-fed something that tasted like fresh made cannoli, only it was pudding. The girl with blond hair hovered over me, smirking as she scraped drips off my chin with the spoon.

When she saw my eyes were open, she asked, "What will happen at the summer solstice?"

I managed to croak, "What?"

She looked around, as if afraid someone would overhear. "What's going on? What was stolen? We've only got a few weeks!"

"I'm sorry," I mumbled, "I don't..."

Somebody knocked on the door, and the girl quickly filled my mouth with pudding.

The next time I woke up, the girl was gone.

A husky blond dude, like a surfer, stood in the corner of the bedroom keeping watch over me. He had blue eyes- at least a dozen of them- on his cheeks, his forehead, the backs of his hands.

When I finally came around for good, there was nothing strange about my surroundings, except that they were nicer than I was use to. I was sitting in a deck chair on a huge porch, gazing across a meadow at green hills in the distance. The breeze. Smelled like strawberries. There was a blanket over my legs, a pillow behind my neck. All that was nice, but my mouth felt like a scorpion had been using it for a nest. My tongue was dry and nasty and every one of my teeth hurt.

On the table next to me was a tall drink. It looked like iced apple juice, with a black straw and a paper parasol stuck through a maraschino cherry.

My hand was so weak I almost dropped the glass once I got my fingers around it.

"Careful," a familiar voice said.

Grover was leaning against the porch railing, looking like he hadn't slept in a week. Under one arm, he cradled a shoe box. He was wearing blue jeans, Converse hi-tops and and a bright orange T-shirt that said CAMP HALF-BLOOD. Just plain old Grover. Not the goat boy.

So maybe I'd had a nightmare. Maybe Sally was okay. We were still on vacation, and we'd stopped here at this big house for some reason. And...

"You saved my life," Grover said, dashing my hopes. "I... well, the least I could do... I went back to the hill. I thought you might want this."

Reverently, he placed the shoe box inn my lap.

Inside was a b black-and-white bull's horn, the base jagged from being broken off, the tip splattered with dried blood. It hadn't been a nightmare.

"The Minotaur," I said.

"Um, Nico, it isn't a good idea-"

"That's what he was, wasn't it?" I demanded. "The Minotaur. Half man, half bull. How long have I been out?"

Grover shifted uncomfortably. "Two days. How much do you remember?"

"Sally. Is she really...?"

He looked down.

I stared across the meadow. There were groves of trees, a winding stream, acresof strawberries spread out under the blue sky. The valley was surrounded by rolling hills, and the tallest one, directly in front of us, was the one with the huge pine tree on top. Even that looked beautiful in the sunlight.

Sally was gone, the closest person to a mother I had ever had, was gone. The world should be dark and cold, mourning. Nothing should look beautiful.

"I'm sorry," Grover sniffled. "I'm a failure. I'm- I'm the worst satyrs in the world."

He moaned, stomping his foot so hard it came off. I mean, the Converse hi-top came off. The inside was filled with Styrofoam, except for a hoof-shaped hole.

"Oh, Styx!" he mumbled.

Thunder rolled across the sky.

As he struggled to get his hoof back in the fake foot, I thought, Well, that settles it.

My best friend was a satyr, but I was too miserable to care that satyrs existed, or monsters. All that meant was that Sally was really gone, which also meant that my mother was gone.

I was alone. An orphan. No, that wasn't true. I still had Bianca, but with out a parent or any other family, I would be sent to live in foster homes with strangers, most likely sent away from my sister. I couldn't stand that. It would kill me.

Grover was still sniffling. Poor guy looked as if he expected to be hit.

I said, "It wasn't your fault."

"Yes, it was. I was supposed to protect you. That's my job. I'm a keeper. At least... I was."

"But why..." I suddenly felt dizzy, my vision swimming.

"Don't strain yourself," Grover said. "Here."

He helped me hold my glass and put the straw to my lips.

I recoiled at the taste, because I was expecting apple juice. It definitely wasn't apple juice. It was warm chocolate-chip cookies. Liquid cookies. And not just any cookies- Sally's double chocolate chocolate-chip cookies, buttery and hot, with all the chips still melting. Drinking it, my whole body felt warm and good, full of life. My grief didn't go away, but I felt as if Sally had just brushed her hand against my cheek, given me a cookie the way she used to when I was younger.

Before I knew it, I'd drained half the glass. I stared into it, sure i'd just had a warm drink, but the ice cubes hadn't even melted.

"Is it good?" Grover asked.

"Yeah, here have some."

His eyes got widen. "No! That's not what I meant. I just wondered. What does it taste like?"

"Chocolate-chip cookies, " I said. "Sally's. Homemade."

He sighed. "And how do you feel?"

"Like I could toss Nancy Bobofit a hundred yards." I said as I downed the rest.

"That's good," he said. "That's good. I don't think you could risk drinking anymore of that stuff."

"What do you mean?"

He gingerly took the empty glass from me and set it back on the table. "Come on Chiron and Mr. D are waiting.

The porch wrapped all the way around the farmhouse.

My legs felt wobbly, trying to walk that far. Grover offered to carry the horn, but I held onto it. I'd paid for that the hard way. I wasn't going to let it go.

As we came around the opposite end of the house, i caught my breath.

We must've been on the north shore of Long Island, because on this side of the house, the valley marched all the way up to the water, which littered about a mile in the distance. Between here and there, I simply couldn't process everything I was seeing. The landscape was dotted with buildings that looked like ancient Greek architecture- an open-air pavilion, an amphitheater, a circular arena- except that they all looked brand new, their white marble columns sparkling in the sun. In a nearby Sandler, a dozen high school-age kids and satyrs played volleyball. Canoes glided across a small lake. Kids in bright orange T-shirts like Grover's were chasing each. Other around a cluster of cabins nestled in the woods. Some shot targets at an archery range. Others rode horses down a wooden trail, and, unless I was hallucinating, some of their horses had wings.

Down at the end of the porch, two men sat across from each other at a card table. The blond-haired girls who'd spoon-fed me cannoli-flavored pudding was leaning on the porch rail next to them.

The man facing me was small, but perky. He had a red nose, big watery eyes, and curly hair so black it was almost purple. He looked like a cherub who'd turned middle-aged in a trailer park. He wore a tiger-pattern Hawaiian shirt, and could probably out-gamble anyone.

"That's Mr. D," Grover murmured to me. "He's the camp director. Be polite. The girl, that's Annabeth Chase. She's just camper, but she's been here longer than just about anybody. And you already know Chiron..."

He pointed at the guy whose back was to me.

First, I realized he was sitting in the wheelchair. Then I recognized the tweed jacket, the thinning brown hair, the scraggly beard.

"Mr. Brunner!" I cried.

The Latin teacher turned and smiled at me. His eyes had that mischievous glint they got in class when he pulled a pop quiz and made all the multiple choice answers B.

"Ah, good, Nico," he said. "Now we have four for pinochle."

He offered me a chair to the right of Mr. D, who looked at me with bloodshot eyes and heaved a great sigh. "Oh, I suppose I must say it. Welcome to Camp Half-Blood. There. Now, don't expect me to be glad to see you."

"Thank you, sir." I scooted a little farther away from him because, if my mother had taught me any thing it was if an adult was drunk, and this man obviously was no stranger to alcohol.

"Annabeth?" Mr. Brunner called to the blond girl.

She came forward and Mr. Brunner introduced us. "This young lady nursed you back to b health, Nico. Annabeth, my dear, why don't you go check on Nico's bunk? We'll be putting him in cabin eleven for now, and tell his sister that he's awake."

Annabeth said, "Sure, Chiron."

She was around my age, maybe a couple of inches taller, and a whole lot more athletic looking. With her deep tan and curly blond hair, she was almost exactly what I thought a stereotypical California girl would look like, except het eyes ruined the image. They were startling gray, lime storm clouds; pretty but intimidating, too, as if she were analyzing the best wat to take me down in a fight.

She glanced at the minotaur horn in my hands, then back at me. I thought she might say something about it.

Instead she said, "You talk in your sleep."

Then she sprinted off down the lawn, her blond hair flying behind her.

"So," I said, anxious to change the subject. "You, uh, work here Mr. Brunner?"

"Not Mr. Brunner," the ex-Mr. Brunner said. "I'm afraid that was a pseudonym. You may call me Chiron."

"Okay." A little confused, I looked at the director. "And Mr. D... does that stand for anything?"

Mr. D stopped shuffling the cards. He looked at me like I'd just bleached loudly. "Young man, names are powerful things. You don't just go around using them for no reason."

"Of course, my apologies."

"I must say, Nico," Chiron-Brunner broke in, "I'm glad to see you alive. It's been a long time since I've made a house call to a potential camper. I'd hate to think I've wasted my time."

"House call?"

"My year at Yancy Academy, to instruct you. We have satyrs at most schools, of course, keeping a lookout. But Grover alerted me as soon as he met you. He sensed you were something special, so I decided to come upstate. I convinced the other Latin teacher to... ah, take a leave of absence. "

I tried to remember the beginning of the school year. It seemed like so long ago, but I did have a vague memory f there being another Latin teacher my first week at Yancy. Then, without explanation, he had disappeared and Mr. Brunner had taken over.

"You came to Yancy just to teach me?" I asked.

Chiron nodded. "Honestly, I wasn't sure about you at first. We tried to contact your mother but she wouldn't listen to us. But you had much time learn. Nevertheless you made it here alive, and that's always the first test."

"Grover," Mr. D said impatiently, "are you playing or not?"

"Yes, sir!" Grover trembled as he took the fourth chair, though I didn't know why he was so afraid of a pudgy little man in a tiger-print Hawaiian shirt.

"You do know how to play pinochle?" Mr. D eyed never suspiciously.

"I'm afraid not, sir," I said.

"Hmm, this one knows some manners it seems," he said.

I was liking this camp director less and less.

"Well," he told me, "is is, along with gladiator fighting and Pac-Man, one of the greatest games ever invented by humans. I would expect all civilized young men to know the rules."

"I'm sure the boy can learn," Chiron said.

"Please," I said, "what is this place? What am I doing here? Chiron why would you go to Yancy Academy just to teach me?"

Mr. D snorted. " I asked the same question."

The camp director dealt the cards. Grover flinched every time one landed in his pile.

Chiron smil edd d at me sympathetically, the way he used to in Latin class, as if to let me know that no matter what my average was, I was his star student. He expected me to have the right answer.

"Nico," he said. "Did your mother tell you nothing?"

"Nope, she wasn't exactly the mother of the year, I was basically ignored for most of my life."

"Typical," Mr. D said. "That's what happens when your not careful of who can become a parent. Young man, are you bidding or not?"

"What?" I asked.

He explained, impatiently, how you bid in pinochle, and so I did.

"I'm afraid there's too much to tell," Chiron said. "I'm afraid out usual orientation film won't be sufficient."

"Orientation film?" I asked.

"No," Chiron decided. "Well, Nico. You know your friend Grover is a satyr. You know"- he pointed to the horn in the shoe box- "that you have killed the Minotaur. No small feat, either, lad. What you may not know is that great powers are at work in your life. Gods- rhe forces you call the Greek gods- are very much alive."

I stared at the others around the table.

I waited for so embody to yell, Not! But all I got was Mr. D yelling, "Oh, a royal marriage. Trick! Trick!" He cackle as he tallied up his points.

"Mr. D," Grover asked timidly, "if you're not going to eat it, could I have your Diet Coke can?"

"Eh? Oh, all right."

Grover bit a huge shard out of the empty aluminum can and chewed it mournfully.

"So the gods are real. Zeus, Hera, Artemis. All of them."

And there it was again- distant thunder on a cloudless day.

"Young man," said Mr. D, "I would really be less casual about throwing those names around, if I were you."

"But if they're the gods than why don't we see them? I won't just accept something like this with out proof."

"Nico," Chiron said, "you may choose to believe or not, but the fact is that immortal means immortal. Can you imagine that for a moment, never dying? Never fading? Existing, just as you are for all time?"

"No, all things come to an end, that's why there is death. I don't think I could live an eternal life, I would be to lonely."

"An interesting answer Nico, most people would have replied with wanting to be immortal."

"Well you'd better start believing, boy," Mr. D murmured. "Before one of them incinerates you."

Grover said, "P-please, sir. He's just in shock."

Playing a card, "Bad enough I'm confined to this miserable job, working with boys who don't even believe."

He waved his hand and a goblet appeared on the table, as if the sunlight had bent and woven the air into glass. The goblet filled itself with red wine.

I stared, but Chiron hardly looked his up.

"Mr. D," he warned, "your restrictions."

Mr. D looked at the wine and feigned surprise.

"Dear me." He looked at the sky and yelled, "Old habits! Sorry!"

More thunder.

Mr. D waved his hand again, the wineglass changed into a fresh can of Diet Coke. He sighed unhappily, popped the top of the soda, and went back to his card game.

Chiron winked at me. "Mr. D offended his father a while back, took a fancy to a wood nymph who had been declared off-limits."

"Right," I replied, still staring at the Diet Coke can like it was from outer space.

"Yes," Mr. D confessed. "Father loves to punish me. The first time, Prohibition. Ghastly! Absolutely horrid ten years! The second time- well, she was pretty, and I couldn't stay away- the second time, he sent me here. Half-Blood Hill. Summer camp for brats like you. 'Be a better influence,' he told me. 'Work with brats like you. 'Work with youths rather than tearing them down.' Ha! Absolutely unfair."

"And your father is..."

"Di immortales, Chiron," I thought you taught this boy the basics. My father is Zeus, of course."

That's when it clicked, "Your the wine dude."

"Excuse me?"

"Dionysus, the god of wine right?"

"Who did you think I was, Apollo?" He said while rolling his eyes. He then turned back to his card game. "I believe I win."

Not quite, sir," I said. I set down a straight, tallied the points, and said, "The game goes to me."

"I thought you said you had never played before." Mr. D glared at me, a purple fire in his eyes.

"I never said I wasn't a quick study." I replied. I might not get the best grades but if there was one thing I was good at it was games.

"I'm tired," Mr. D said. "I believe I'll take a nap before the sing-along tonight. But first, Grover, we need to talk, again, about your less-than-perfect performance on this assignment."

Grover's face beaded with sweat. "Y-yes, sir."

Mr.D turned towards me. "Cabin eleven, Nico Di Angelo. And mind your manners."

He swept into the farmhouse, Grover following miserably.

"Will he be ok?" I asked asked Chiron.

Chiron nodded, though he looked a bit troubled. "Dionysus isn't really made. He just hates his job. He's been... ah, grounded, I guess you would say, and he can't stand waiting another century before he's allowed to go back to Olympus."

"So if the gods are real, is there a palace on Mt. Olympus?"

"Well now, there's Mount Olympus in Greece. And then there's the home of the gods, the convergence point of their powers, which did indeed used to be on Mount Olympus. It's still called Mount Olympus, out of respect to the old ways, but the palace moves, Nico, just as the gods do."

"You mean the Greek gods are here, in America?"

"Well, certainly. The gods move with the heart of the West."

"The West is what the gods follow right, it started a few thousand years ago in Greece right?"

With a nod of approval, Chiron continued, "Yes, they moved to Germany, to France, to Spain, for a while. Wherever the flame was brightest, the gods were there. They apent several centuries in England. All you need to do is look at the architecture. People do not forget the gods. Every place they've ruled, for the last three thousand years, you can see them in paintings, statues, on the most important buildings. And yes, Nico, of course they are now in your United States. Look at your symbol, the eagle of Zeus. Look at the statue of Prometheus in Rockefeller Center, the Greek facades of your government buildings in Washington. I defy you to find any American city where the Olympians are not prominently displayed in multiple places. This is where the heart of the flame is now, and so Olympus is here. And we are here."

"And who are we? Who are you? Who am I?"

Chiron smiled. He shifted his weight as if he were going to get up out of his chair, but I was sure he was paralyzed from the waist down.

"Who are you?" He mused. "Well, that's the question we all want answered, isn't it? But for now, we should get you a bunk in cabin eleven. There will be new friends to meet. And plenty of time for lessons tomorrow. Besides, there will be s'mores at the campfire tonight, and I simply adore chocolate."

And the he did rise from his wheelchair. But there was something odd about the way he did it. His blanket fell away from his legs, but Hythe legs didn't move. His waist kept getting longer, rising above his belt. As he kept rising out of the chair, taller than any man. His front was that of an animal, muscle and sinew under coarse white fur. And the wheelchair wasn't a chair. It was some kind of container box on wheels, and it must've been magic, because there's no way it could've held all of him. A leg came out, long and knobby-kneed, then hindquartets, and then the box qas empty, nothing but a metal shell with a couple of fake human legs attached.

I stared at the horse who had just sprung from the wheelchair: a huge white stallion. But where its neck should be was the upper body of my Latin teacher, smoothly grafted to the horse's trunk.

"What a relief," the centaur said. "I'd been cooped up in there so long, my feltlocks had fallen asleep. Now, come, Nico Di Angelo. Let's meet the other campers."

Thats all for this chapter, I still would like some ideas for Nico's sword, so far I've come up with Nightmare and Souleater. Please send in any ideas. Also this will still be a percabeth fanfic, but Nico will get together with someone.


	7. Chapter 7

Di Angelo and the Olympians: The Lightning Thief.

All rights go to Rick Riordan, I made this on a whim.

Chapter 7: I meet the family.

Chiron took me on a nice tour of the camp, though I was careful not to walk behind him. We passed a volleyball pit. Several of the campers nudged each other. One pointed to the horn in my hand. Another said, "That's him."

Most of the campers were older than me. Their satyr friends were bigger than Grover, all of them trotting around in orange CAMP HALF-BLOOD T-shirts, with no pants to cover their lower half. I was different and use to getting looks, but the way they stared at me made me uncomfortable.

I looked back at the farmhouse. It was a lot bigger than I'd thought- four stories tall, sky blue with white trim, like an upscale resort. I was checking out the brass eagle weather vane on top when something caught my eye, a shadow in the uppermost window of the attic gable. Something had moved the curtain, just for an instant, and I knew I was being watched.

"What's up there?" I asked Chiron.

He looked where I was pointing, and his smile faded. "Just the attic."

"Is there anyone up there?"

"Not a single living person is up there." He said with finality.

I knew he was telling me the truth. I don't know how but, I knew there was nothing alive there.

"Come along, Nico," Chiron said, his lighthearted tone now a little forced. "Lots to see."

We walked through the strawberry fields, where campers were picking bushels of berries while a satyr played a tune on a reed pipe.

Chiron explained to me that the camp grew a crop for export to New York restaurants and Mount Olympus. "It pays our expenses, and the strawberries take almost no effort."

He said Mr. D had this effect on fruit-bearing plants: they just went crazy when he was around. It worked best with wine grapes, but Mr. D was restricted from growing them, so they grew strawberries instead.

I watched the Satyr playing his pipe. His music was causing lines of bugs to leave the strawberry patch in every direction, like refugees fleeing a fire. I wondered if Grover could work that kind of magic with music. I wondered if he was still inside the farmhouse, getting chewed out by Mr. D.

"Grover won't be in too much trouble will he?" I asked Chiron. "He did do his job as a protector."

Chiron sighed. He shed his tweed jacket and draped it over his horse's back like a saddle. "Grover has big dreams, Nico. Perhaps bigger than are reasonable. To reach his goal, he must first demonstrate great courage by succeeding as a keeper, finding a new camper and bringing him safely to Half-Blood Hill."

"But he has!"

"I might agree with you," Chiron said. "But it is not my place to judge. Dionysus and the Council of Cloven Elders must decide. I'm afraid they might not see this as a successful assignment. After all, he lost you in New York. Then there's the unfortunate... ah... fate of your mother and neighbor. And the fact that Grover was unconscious when you dragged him and your sister over the property line. The council might question whether this shows any courage on Grover's part."

I wanted to protest. None of what happened was Grover's fault. It was mine. If I hadn't broken my promise at the bus station, things might have been different.

"He'll get a second chance, right?"

Chiron winced. "I'm afraid that was Grover's second chance, Nico. The council was not anxious to give him another, either, after what happened the first time, five years ago. Olympus knows, I advised him to wait longer before trying again. He's still so small for his age..."

"How old is he?"

"Oh, twenty-eight."

"Wait, he's twenty-eight and in sixth grade?"

"Satyrs mature half as fast as humans, Nico. Grover has been the equivalent of a middle school student for the past six years."

"That sucks."

"Quite," Chiron agreed. "At any rate, Grover is a late bloomer, even by satyr standards, and not yet accomplished at woodland magic. Alas, he was anxious to pursue his dream. Perhaps now he will find some other career..."

"That's not right," I said. "What happened the first time? Was it that bad?"

Chiron looked away quickly. "Let's move along, shall we?"

But I wasn't ready to drop the subject. Something had occurred to me when Chiron talked about Sally's fate, the way he had avoided saying death, it wasn't just to spare my feelings. The beginnings of an idea- a small spark of hope- formed in my mind.

"Chiron," I said. "If the gods are real then that would mean other places are real to right? Like the Underworld?"

His expression darkened.

"Yes, child." He paused, as if carefully choosing his next words. "There is a place where spirits go after death. But please, put that thought out of your head for now."

"Yes, sir."

"Now come, Nico. Let's see the woods."

As we got closer, I realized how huge the forest was. It took up at least a quarter of the valley, with trees so tall and thick, you could imagine them as untouched by time.

Chiron said, "The woods are stocked, if you care to your luck, but go in armed."

"Stocked with what?" I asked.

"You'll see. Capture the flag is Friday night. Do you have your own sword and shield?"

"I have a horn."

"No," Chiron said. "That won't do. I think a size five will do. I'll visit the armory later."

As the tour continued we saw the archery range, the canoeing lake, the stables (which Chiron and I both left quickly), the javelin range, the sing-along amphitheater, and the arena where Chiron said they held sword and spear fights.

"Sword and spear fights?" I asked.

"Cabin challenges and all that," he explained. "Not lethal. Usually. Oh, yes, and there's the mess hall."

Chiron pointed to an outdoor pavilion framed in white Grecian columns on a hill overlooking the sea. There were a dozen stone picnic tables.

Finally, he showed me the cabins. There were thirteen of them, nestled in the woods by the lake. Twelve were arranged in a Greek Omega, with one cabin set slightly behind the center cabins. And each cabin was completely different than the rest.

Except the large brass numbers above the doors, they looked nothing alike. Number nine had smokestacks, like a small factory. Number four had tomato vines on the walls and a roof made out of real grass. Seven seemed to be made of solid gold, which gleaned like it was the sun. They all had a commons area about the size of a soccer field, dotted with Greek statues, fountains, flowered and some basketball hoops.

In the center of the field was a huge stone-lined firepit. Even though it was a warm afternoon, the hearth smoldered. A girl about nine years old was tending to the flames, poking the coals with a stick.

I walked towards her, Chiron following behind me. As I approached her she looked up and her eyes caught me off guard. There was a fire in them, a soft, warm glow, the type of fire you see in cozy cottages.

"Hello, Nico Di Angelo, would you care to sit with me." The little girl said.

"Um, sure." I said as I sat down, though I wondered how she knew my name.

"Ah, Lady Hestia, I see you have met our newest camper. Nico this is Hestia..."

"Oldest child of Kronos." I said, cutting him off.

"Yes, though many have forgotten me it is good to see some still honour my memory," she said, her eyes shimmering with a soft glow.

"You were a major goddess in the old days weren't you, goddess of the hearth, right?"

"That's right. Goddess of the hearth and family, and you have joined ours, young one."

"Yes, Lady Hestia is keeper of the fire, and tends to it both here and on Olympus. Now please my lady, if you will excuse us, we have a tour to finish," Chiron said.

I looked over to the nine year old goddess sitting next to me. She simply smiled and nodded. "Yes you may Chiron. And Nico please remember you will always have a place here."

"Thank you ma'am, I will." I said, for the first time since I woke up I felt like I could belong here.

We walked back towards the cabins. We got over to the pair of cabins at the head of the field, numbers one and two, looked like large mausoleum, big white marble boxes with heavy columns in front. Cabin one was the biggest and bulkiest of the thirteen. Its polished bronze doors simmered like a hologram, so that from different angles lightning bolts seemed to streak across them. Cabin two was more graceful somehow, with slimmer columns garlands with pomegranates and flowers. The walls were carved with images of peacocks.

"Zues and Hera?" I guessed.

"Correct," Chiron said.

"Their cabins look empty."

"Several of the cabins are. That's true. No one ever stays in one or two."

Okay. So each cabin had a different god, a different patron. Thirteen cabins for the thirteen gods. But why would some be empty?

I looked in between cabins one and three, at a cabin with outer walls made of obsidian. It was dark and gloomy, not nearly as large as any of the other cabins, maybe half the size of the others. I felt called to it and asked, "Whose cabin is this?"

"That is Cabin number thirteen, the Hades cabin," Chiron said with a sad note in his voice. "Now come along, Nico. Much more to see."

Most of the other cabins were crowded with campers.

Number five was bright red- a real nasty paint job, as if the color had been splashed on with buckets and fists. The roof was lined with barbed wire. A stuffed wild boar's head over the doorway, and its eyes seemed to follow me. Inside I could see a bunch of mean-looking kids, both girls and boys, arm wrestling and arguing with each other as rock music blared. The loudest was a girl maybe thirteen or fourteen. She wore a CAMP HALF-BLOOD T-shirt under a camo jacket. She zeroed in on me and gave me a sneer. She reminded me of Nancy Bobofit, though this girl was much bigger and tougher looking, and her hair was long and stringy, and brown instead of red.

I kept walking, trying to stay clear of Chiron's hooves.

"Oh, look," he said. "Annabeth is waiting for us."

The blond girl I'd met at the Big House was reading a book in front of the last cabin on the left, number eleven.

When we reached her, she looked me over critically, like she was wondering how often I talk in my sleep.

I tried to see what she was reading, but I couldn't make out the title. I thought my dyslexia was acting up. Then I realized the title was in Greek, it had pictures of temples and statues and different kind of columns, like those in architecture books.

"Annabeth," Chiron said, "I have masters' archery class at noon. Would you take Nico from here?"

"Yes, sir."

"Cabin eleven," Chiron told me, gesturing toward the doorway. "Make yourself at home."

Out of all the cabins, eleven looked the most like a regular old summer camp cabin, with the emphasis on old. The threshold was worn down, the brown paint peeling. Over the doorway was a caduceus, a winged pole with two snakes wrapped around it.

Inside, it was packed with people, both girls and boys, way more than the number of beds. Sleeping bags were spread all over on the floor. It looked like the Red Cross had set up an evacuation center.

Chiron didn't go in. The door was too low for him. But when the campers saw him they all stood and bowed respectfully.

"Well, then," Chiron said. "Good luck, Nico. I'll see you at dinner."

He galloped away towards the archery range.

I stood in the doorway, looking at the kids. They weren't bowing anymore. They were staring at me, sizing me up. I knew this, I'd gone through it at enough schools.

"Well?" Annabeth prompted. "Go on."

I walked through the door. There were a few murmurs, but no one really said anything.

Annabeth announced, "Nico Di Angelo, meet cabin eleven."

"Regular or undetermined?" Somebody asked.

"Undetermined."

Everybody groaned.

A guy who was a little older than the rest came forward. "Now, now, campers. That's what we're here for. Welcome, Nico. You can have that spot on the floor, right over there."

The guy was about nineteen, and he looked pretty cool. He was tall and muscular, with short-cropped sandy hair and a friendly smile. He wore an orange tank top, cutoffs, sandals, and a leather necklace with five different-colored clay beads. The only thing off about his appearance was a thick white scar that ran from just beneath his right eye to his jaw, like an old knife slash.

"This is Luke," Annabeth said, and her voice sounded different. I glanced over and saw she was blushing. She saw me looking, and her expression hardened again. "He's your counselor for now."

"For now?" I asked.

"You're undetermined," Luke explained patiently. "They don't know what cabin to put you in, so you're here. Cabin eleven takes all newcomers, all visitors. Naturally, we would. Hermes, our patron, is the gods of travelers."

I looked at the tiny section of floor they'd given me. I had nothing to put there to mark it as my own, no luggage, no clothes, no sleeping bag. Just the Minotaur's horn.

I looked around at the campers' faces, some sullen and suspicious, some grinning stupidly, some eyeing me as if they were waiting for a chance to pick my pockets.

"How long will I be here?" I asked.

"Good question," Luke said. "Until you're determined."

"How long does that take?"

The other campers all laughed.

"Come on," Annabeth told me. "I'll show you the volleyball court."

Taking the chance to get out of the cabin, and away from the laughter, we left. I could hear the kids of cabin eleven laughing behind me.

When we were a few feet away, Annabeth said, "Di Angelo, you have to do better than that."

"What?"

She rolled her eyes and mumbled under her breath. "I can't believe I thought you were the one."

"I don't know what's going on. All I know is I killed some bull-"

"Don't talk like that!" Annabeth told me. "You know how many kids at this camp wish they'd had your chance?"

"To die?"

"To fight the Minotaur! What do you think we train for?"

I shook my head. "Look, if the thing I fought really was the Minotaur, the same as from the stories..."

"Yes."

"Then why isn't he dead? I thought Thesaurus killed him in the labyrinth."

"They don't have souls, like you and me. You can dispel them for a while, maybe even for a whole lifetime if you're lucky. But they are primal forces. Chiron calls them archetypes. Eventually, they re-form."

"You mean every monster I kill-"

"The sphinx, your math teacher. She's still out there. You just made her very, very, mad."

"How did you know about Mrs. Dodds?"

"Like I said, you talk in your sleep."

"Okay, then can you explain why nobody stays in those empty bunks, why we can't make some room in cabin eleven?"

"You don't choose your cabin, Nico. It depends on who your parent is, in your case your father."

"Do you know anything about him?"

"No, but I know you. You wouldn't be here if you weren't one of us."

"What do you mean?"

"You're diagnosed with dyslexia and ADHD, right?"

"Yeah, so what?"

"Taken together, it's almost a sure sign. The letters float off the page when you read right? That's because your mind is hardwired for ancient Greek. And the ADHD- you're impulsive, can't sit still in the class room. That's your battlefield reflexes. In a real fight, they'd keep you alive. As for the attention problems, that's because you see too much, Nico, not too little. Your senses are better than a regular mortal's. Of course the. Teachers want you medicated. Most of them are monsters. They don't want you seeing them for what they are."

"You sound like you went through the same thing."

"Most of the kids here did. If you weren't like us, you couldn't have survived the Minotaur, much less the ambrossia and nectar."

"Ambrossia and nectar."

"The food and drink we were giving you to make you better. That stuff would've killed a normal kid. It would've turned your blood to fire and your bones to sand and you'd be dead. Face it. You're a half-blood."

A half-blood.

My heaf was reeling with so many questions I didn't know where to start.

Then a husky voice yelled, "Hey, newbie!"

I looked over. The big girl from the ugly red cabin was sauntering towards us. She had three other girls behind her, all ugly and mean looking like her, all wearing camo jackets.

"Clarisse," Annabeth sighed. "Why don't you go polish your spear or something?"

"Sure, Miss Princess," the biggest girl said. "So I can ran you through with it Friday night."

"Erre es korakas!" Annabeth said, which I somehow understood was Greek for 'Go to the crows!' "You don't stand a chance."

"We'll pulverize you," Clarisse said, but her eye twitched. Perhaps she wasn't sure she could follow through on that threat. She turned towards me. "Who's this little runt?"

"Nico Di Angelo," Annabeth said, "meet Clarisse, Daughter of Ares."

I blinked. "Ares the god of war?"

Clarisse sneered "You got a problem with that?"

"No," I said recovering my wits. "It explains the boars head and barbed wire on your cabin, I like it."

"Hm, damn right Nicky-"

"Nico."

"What?" Clarisse asked.

"My name is Nico, not Nicky."

"Whatever, I like you kid, from now on we got your back. But don't think I won't be gunning for you Friday, good luck Nicky."

Clarisse and her sisters walked away and Annabeth looked at me. "How did you do that?"

"Do what?"

"You just made friends with the biggest bully in camp." Annabeth said, then she stared at me.

"What are you thinking?

"I'm thinking," she said, "that I want you on my team for capture the flag."

That's all for this chapter. As always please leave any ideas in a review, I am open to ideas. Still looking for a name for Nico's sword. The newest submission is 'ruin' by MonkeyTypewriter, and Oblivion from outside sources.


	8. Chapter 8

Nico Di Angelo and the Olympians: The Lightning Thief.

All rights go to Rick Riordan, I made this on a whim.

Chapter 8: I pray to my holy father

Annabeth showed me a few more places: the metal shop ( where kids were making their own swords), the arts-and-crafts room

( where satyrs were sandblasting a giant marble statue of a goat-man), and the climbing wall, which actually consisted of two facing walls that shook violently, dropped boulders, sprayed lava, and clashed together if you didn't get to the top fast enough.

Finally we returned to the canoeing lake, where the trail led back to the cabins.

"I've got training to do," Annabeth said flatly. "Dinner's at seven-thirty. Just follow your cabin to the mess hall."

I was starting into the lake, wishing I know what was going on.

I wasn't expecting anybody to be looking back at me from the bottom, so my heart skipped a beat when I noticed two teenage girls sitting cross-legged at the case of the pier, about twenty feat below. They wore blue jeans and shimmering green T-shirts, and their brown hair floated loose around their shoulders as min owes darted in and out. They smiled and waved ad if I were a long-lost friend.

I didn't know what else to do. I waved back.

"Don't encourage them," Annabeth warned. "Naiads are terrible flirts."

"Naiads," I repeated, feeling completely overwhelmed. "That's it. I want to go home."

Annabeth frowned. "Don't you get it, Nico? You are home. This is the only safe place on earth for kids like us. Not totally human. Half-human."

"Half-human and what?"

"I think you know."

I didn't want to admit it, but I was afraid I did. "God," I said. "Half-god."

Annabeth nodded. "Your father is one of the Olympians."

"That's insane."

"Is it? What's the most common thing gods did in the old stories? They ran around falling in love with humans and having kids with then. Do you think they've changed their habits in the last few millennia?"

"But if all the kids here are demigod, then who's your parent?"

"Cabin six."

"Meaning?"

Annabeth straightened. "Athena. Goddess of wisdom and battle."

"And my dad?"

"Undetermined," Annabeth said, "like I told you before. Nobody knows."

"So how long before I'm claimed?"

"Don't know, maybe he'll send a sign claiming you as his son. Sometimes it happens."

"What do you mean sometimes?"

Annabeth ran her palm along the rail. "The gods are busy. They have a lot of kids and they don't always... Well, sometimes they don't care about us, Nico. They ignore us."

I thought about some of the kids I'd seen in the Hermes cabin, teenagers who looked sullen and depressed, as if they were waiting for a call that would never come. I'd known kids like that at Yancy Academy, shuffled off to boarding school by rich parents who didn't have time to deal with them. But gods should behave better.

"So I'm stuck here," I said. "That's it? For the rest of my life?"

"It depends," Annabeth said. "Some campers only stay the summer. If you're a child of Aphrodite or Demeter, you're probably not a powerful force. The monsters might ignore you, so you can get by with a few months of summer training and live in the mortal world the rest of the year. But for some of us, it's too dangerous to leave. We're year-rounders. In the mortal world, we attract monsters. They sense us. They come to challenge us. Most of the time, they'll ignore us until we're old enough to cause trouble- about ten or eleven years old, but after that, most demigods either make their way here, or they get killed off. A few manage to survive in the outside world and become famous. Believe me, if I told you the names, you'd know them. Some don't even realize they're demigods. But very, very few are like that."

"So monsters can't get in here?"

Annabeth shook her head. "Not unless they're intentionally stocked in the woods or specially summoned by somebody on the inside."

"Why would anybody want to summon a monster?"

"Practice fights. Practical jokes."

"Practical jokes?"

"The point is, the borders are sealed to keep mortals and monsters out. From the outside, mortals look into the valley and see nothing unusual, just a strawberry farm."

"So you're a year-rounder?"

Annabeth nodded. From under the collar of her T-shirt she pulled a leather necklace with five clay beads of different colors. It was just like Luke's, except Annabeth's also had a big gold ring strung on it, like a college ring.

"I've been here since I was seven," she said. "Every August, on the last day of summer session, you get a bead for surviving another year. I've been here longer than most of the counselors, and they're all in college."

"Why did you come so young?"

She twisted the ring on her necklace. "None of your business."

"Oh." I stood there for a minute in uncomfortable silence. "So I could just walk out of here right now if I wanted to?"

"It would be suicide, but you could, with Mr. D's or Chiron's permission. But they wouldn't give permission until the end of summer session unless..."

"Unless?"

"You were granted a quest. But that hardly ever happens. The last time..."

Her voice trailed off. I could tell from her tone that the last time hadn't gone well.

"Back when I was unconscious, you asked me about the summer solstice."

Annabeth's shoulders tensed. "So you do k ow something?"

"Not really, but back at my old school, I overheard Grover and Chiron talking about it. Grover mentioned the summer solstice. He said something about not having enough time because of the deadline. What did that mean?"

She clenched her fists. "I wish I knew. Chiron and the satyrs, they know, but they won't tell me. Something is wrong in Olympus, something pretty major. Last time I was there, every thing seemed so normal."

"You've been to Olympus?"

"Some of us year-rounders- Luke and Clarisse and I and a few others- we took a field trip during the winter solstice. That's when the gods have their big annual council. Right after we visited, the weather got weird, as if the gods had started fighting. A couple of times since, I've overhead satyrs talking. The best I can figure is that something important was stolen. And if it isn't returned by the summer solstice, there's going to be trouble. When you came, I was hoping... I mean- Athena can get along with just about anybody, except for of course Ares. And of course she's got that rivalry with Poseidon. But, I mean, aside from that, I thoufht we could work together. I thought you might know something."

I shook my head. I wished i could help her, but I was too hungry, tired, and mentally exhausted to ask any more questions.

"I've got to get a quest," Annabeth muttered to herself. "I'm not too young. If they would just tell me the problem..."

I could smell barbecue smoke coming from somewhere nearby. Annabeth must've heard my stomach growl. She told me to go on, she'd catch me later. I left her on the pier, tracing her finger across the rail as if drawing a battle plan.

As I walked back towards cabin eleven, I heard a scream, "NICO!", turning I saw Bianca running towards me.

Leaping she wrapped me in a hug and said, "I was so worried about you, Nico. How could you do something like that? Are you ok?"

"Yes, Bianca, I'm fine, honest. What about you? Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm ok. Did they tell you about Mom and Mrs. Jackson."

So Bianca knew, that means I was out while she needed me. I may of been the younger of the two of us but, Bianca was naive, and innocent. I wasn't. I had to grow up because my mother wouldn't give me a break, and rode my ass all my life. I was the one who took care of us, when mother was too drunk too cook. I was the one who protected Bianca from bullies and reality, and I wasn't there for her when she needed me.

"Um... yeah, Chiron told me. So, what about you? Are you okay?" I asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine now. It was a lot to take in though, I mean who would have guessed dad was a god?"

A girl over near the stables called for Bianca, "Sorry Nico, I've got to go, I have horse riding lessons right now. I'll see you at dinner."

With that she ran off, back to her lessons, and I headed off towards cabin eleven. Back at the cabin, everybody was talking and messing around, waiting for dinner. For the first time, I noticed that a lot of the campers had similar features: sharp noses, upturned eyebrows, mischievous smiles. They were the kind of kids that teachers would peg as troublemakers. Thankfully, nobody paid much attention to me as I walked over to my spot on the floor and plopped down with my minotaur horn.

The counselor, Luke, came over. He had the Hermes family resemblance, too. It was marred by that scar on his right cheek, but his smile was intact.

"Found you a sleeping bag," he said. "And here, I stole you some toiletries from the camp store."

I couldn't tell if he was kidding about the stealing part.

I said, "thanks."

"No prob." Luke sat next to me, pushing his back against the wall. "Tough first day?"

"I don't belong here," I said. "I don't even believe in gods."

"Yeah," he said. "That's how we all started. Once you start believing in them? It doesn't get any easier."

The bitterness in his voice surprised me, because Luke seemed like a pretty easygoing guy. He looked like he could handle just about anything.

"So your dad is Hermes?" I asked.

He pulled a switchblade out of his back pocket, and scraped the mud off the sole of his sandal. "Yeah. Hermes."

"The wing-footed messenger guy."

"That's him. Messengers. Medicine. Travelers, merchants, thieves. Anybody who uses the roads. That's why you're here, enjoying cabin eleven's hospitality. Hermes isn't picky about who he sponsors."

I figured Luke didn't mean to call me a nobody. He just had a lot on his mind.

"You ever meet your dad?" I asked.

"Once."

I waited, thinking if he wanted to tell me, he'd tell me. Apparently, he didn't. I wondered if the story had anything to do with how he got his scar.

Luke looked up and managed to smile. "Don't worry about it, Nico. The campers here, they're mostly good people. After all, we're extended family, right? We take care of each other."

He seemed to understand how lost I felt, and I was grateful for that, because an older guy like him- even if he was a counselor- should've steered clear of an uncool middle-schooler like me. But Luke had welcomed me into the cabin. He'd even stolen me some toiletries, which was the nicest thing anybody had done for me all day.

I decided to ask him my last big question, the one that had bothered me all day. "I keep hearing people mention me being 'Big Three' material whenever I walk by. Then Annabeth said, twice, that I might be 'the one.' She said something about a quest."

His face twitched around the scar. "Let's just say I messed things up for everybody else. The last two years, every since my trip to the Garden of the Hesperides went sour, Chiron hasn't allowed any more quest. Annabeth's been dying to get out into the world. She pestered Chiron so much he finally told her he already knew her fate. He'd had a prophecy from the Oracle, this thing that gives us our quest and prophesies. He wouldn't tell her the whole thing, but he said Annabeth wasn't destined to go on a quest yet. She had to wait until... somebody special came to the camp."

"Somebody special?"

"Don't worry about it, kid," Luke said. "Annabeth wants to think every new camper who comes through here is the omen she's been waiting for. Now, come on, it's dinnertime, and you're in luck tonight's movie night, we're seeing Aladdin."

The moment he said it, a horn blew in the distance.

Luke yelled, "Eleven, fall in!"

The whole cabin, about twenty of us, filed into the commons yard. We lined up in order of seniority, so I dead last, right behind Bianca. Campers came from the other cabins, too, except for the four empty cabins at the end, and cabin Wight, which had looked normal in the daytime, but was now starting to glow silver as the sun went down.

We marched up the hill to the mess hall pavilion. Satyrs joined us from the meadow. Naiads emerged from the lake. A few other girls literally out of the woods, straight from the trees.

In all, there were maybe a hundred campers, a few dozen satyrs, and a dozen assorted wood nymphs and naiads.

At the pavilion, torches blazed around the marble columns. A central fire burned in a bronze barrier the size of a bathtub. Each cabin had its own table, covered in white cloth trimmed in purple. Four of the tables were empty, but cabin eleven's was way overcrowded. I had to squeeze on to the edge of a bench.

I saw Grover sitting at table twelve with Mr. D, a few satyrs, and a couple of plump blond boys who looked just like Mr. D. Chiron stood to one side, the picnic table being too small for a centaur.

Annabeth sat at table six with a bunch of serious-looking athletic kids, all with her gray eyes and honey-blond hair.

Clarisse sat behind me at. Ares's table, laughing and belching right alongside her friends.

Finally, Chiron pounded his hoof against the marble floor of the pavilion, and everybody fell silent. He raised a glass. "To the gods!"

Everybody else raised their glasses. "To the gods!"

Wood nymphs came forward with platters of food: grapes, strawberries, cheese, fresh bread, and yes, barbecue! My glass was empty, but Bianca said, "Speak to it. Whatever you want."

I said, "Dr. Pepper."

The glass filled with the liquid.

I took a sip. Perfect.

"Here you go, Nico," Luke said, handing me a platter of smoked brisket.

I loaded my plate and was about to eat when I noticed everybody getting up, carrying their plates toward the fire in the center of the pavilion. I wondered what they were doing.

"Coming on," Luke told me.

As I got closer, I saw that everyone was taking a portion of their meal and dropped it into the fire, the filesystem strawberry, rhe juiciest slice of beef, the warmest, most buttery roll.

Luke murmured in my ear, "Burnt offerings for the gods. They like the smell."

"You're kidding."

His look warned me not to take this lightly, but I couldn't help but wonder why they would want my burnt food.

Luke approached the fire, bowed his head, and tossed in a cluster of fat red grapes. "Hermes."

I was next.

I made a silent plea. Whoever you are, tell me. Please.

I scraped a big slice of brisket into the flames.

When I caught a whiff of the smoke, I didn't gag.

It smelled of hot chocolate and fresh-baked brownies, burgers on the grill and wildflowers, and a hundred other good things that shouldn't have gone well together, but did. I could almost believe the gods could live off that smoke.

When everybody had returned to their seats and finished eating their meals, Chiron pounded his hoof again for our attention.

Mr. D got up with a huge sigh. "Yes, I suppose I'd better say hello to all you brats. Well, hello. Our activities director, Chiron, says the next capture the flag is Friday. Cabin five presently holds the laurels."

A bunch of ugly cheering rose from the Ares table.

"Personally," Mr. D continued, "I couldn't care less, but congratulations. Also, I should tell you that we have a new camper today. Nick Angel."

Chiron murmured something.

"Er, Nico Di Angelo," Mr. D corrected. "That's right. Harrah, and all that. Now run along to your silly campfire and movie. Go on."

Everybody cheered. We all headed down toward the amphitheater, where Apollo's cabin led a sing-along. We sang camp songs about gods, watched the movie, ate s'mores and joked around, and the funny thing was, I didn't feel that anyone was staring at me anymore. I felt that I was home.

Later in the evening, when the sparks from the campfire were curling into a starry sky, the horn blew again, and we all filed back to our cabins. I didn't realize how tired I was until I collapsed on my borrowed sleeping bag.

My fingers curled around the Minotaur's horn. I thought about Sally, but I had good thoughts: her smile, stories she told me.

When I closed my eyes, I fell asleep instantly.

That was my first day at Camp Half-Blood.

I wish I'd known how briefly I would get to enjoy my new home.

That's all for this chapter. The movie night was in honor of Robin Williams passing away the day before this. Also the 4 ideas for Nico's sword are: Ruin, Nightmare, Shadeslayer, and Oblivion. Please vote on your favorite. As always please leave uour reviews and any ideas or questions.


	9. Chapter 9

Nico Di Angelo and the Olympians: The Lightning Thief.

All rights go to Rick Riordan, I made this on a whim.

Chapter 8 1/2: hiatus

Hey, sorry for doing this but I will be taking about a week or two off of this story to work on a Fairy Tail fanfic I am starting, and to let more voting go on for Nico's sword name. I will come back to this story after I finish a few chapters on the Fairy Tail fanfic. So, please be patient, I am very conflicted about this but I want to focus on one fiction at a time. Once again, I do apologize.

The 4 ideas for Nico's sword are: Ruin, Nightmare, Shadeslayer, and Oblivion. Please vote on your favorite. Right now it is one vote Oblivion, one vote Nightmare, and two votes Shadeslayer. As always please leave your reviews and any ideas or questions.


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